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FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE 
THE   ANGEL   O?   THE    CRIMEA 


Books  By  Laura  E.  Richards 

In   Blessed  Cyrus 

Joan  of  Arc 

A  Dauglitei"  of  Jehu 

Abigail  Adams  and  Her  Times 

Pippin 

Elizabeth  Fry 

Florence  Nightingale 

Mrs.  Tree 

Mrs.  Tree's  Will 

Miss  Jimmy 

The  Wooing  of  CalTin  Parks 

Journal     and     Letters     of     Samuel 

Gridley  Howe 
Two  Noble  Lives 
Captain  January 
A  Happy  Little  Time 
When  I  Was  Your  Age 
Five  Minute  Stories 
In  My  Nursery 
The   CSolden  Windows 
The  Silver  Crown 
The  Joyous  Story  of  Toto 
The  Life  of  Julia  Ward  Howe 
(With  Maud  Howe  Elliott) 


209  E 


FLORENCE    NIGHTINGALE. 


FLORENCE    NIGHTINGALE 

THE    ANGEL    OF    THE    CRIMEA 

A   STORr  FOR    rOUNG   PEOPLE 
BY 

LAURA    E.    RICHARDS 

AUTHOR    OF    "CAPTAIN    JANUARY," 
"THE  GOLDEN  WINDOWS,"  ETC, 


I  LLU  S  T  R  ATE  D 


D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
1922 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
J>.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 
THE     SISTER    ELEANOR 

OF  THE    SISTERHOOD  OF   SAINT   MARY 

HERSELF  THROUGH   MANY   LONG  YEARS   A   DEVOTED 

WORKER   FOR  THE   POOR,    THE   SICK,    AND   THE 

SORROWFUL,    THIS   BRIEF   RECORD    OF  AN 

HEROIC  LIFE   IS  AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 


For  the  material  used  in  this  Httle  book 
I  am  chiefly  indebted  to  Sarah  A.  Tooley's 
"Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  and  to 
Kinglake's  "Invasion  of  the  Crimea." 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAG8 

I. — How  Florence  Got  Her  Name — Her  Three 

Homes i 

II. — ^Little  Florence 9 

III. — ^The  Squire's  Daughter 19 

IV. — Looking  Out 32 

V. — ^Waiting  for  the  Call     .....  40 

VI. — The  Trumpet  Call 45 

VII. — The  Response 58 

VIII,— Scutari 68 

IX. — The  Barrack  Hospital 75 

X, — The  Lady-In-Chief 85 

XI. — The  Lady  with  the  Lamp       ....  98 

XII. — Winter 114 

XIII. — Miss  Nightingale  Under  Fire        .        .       .  129 

XIV. — ^The  Close  of  the  War 143 

XV. — ^The  Tasks  of  Peace 159 


FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

HOW  FLORENCE  GOT  HER  NAME HER  THREE 

HOMES. 

NE  evening,  some  time  after  the  great 
Crimean  War  of  1854-55,  a  company  of 
military  and  naval  officers  met  at  dinner 
in  London.    They  were  talking  over  the 
war,  as  soldiers  and  sailors  love  to  do,  and  some- 
body said :  "  Who,  of  all  the  workers  in  the  Crimea, 
will  be  longest  remembered?  '' 

Each  guest  was  asked  to  give  his  opinion  on  this 
point,  and  each  one  wrote  a  name  on  a  slip  of  paper. 
There  were  many  slips,  but  when  they  came  to  be 
examined  there  was  only  one  name,  for  every  single 
man  had  written  "  Florence  Nightingale." 

Every  English  boy  and  girl  knows  the  beautiful 
story  of  Miss  Nightingale's  life.     Indeed,  hers  is 


2  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

perhaps  the  best-loved  name  in  England  since  good 
Queen  Victoria  died.  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to 
me  to  tell  this  story  to  our  own  boys  and  girls  in  this 
country ;  and  it  shall  begin,  as  all  proper  stories  do, 
at  the  beginning. 

Her  father  was  named  William  Nightingale.  He 
was  an  English  gentleman,  and  in  the  year  1820 
was  living  in  Italy  with  his  wife.  Their  first  child 
was  born  in  Naples,  and  they  named  her  Parthen- 
ope,  that  being  the  ancient  name  of  Naples;  two 
years  later,  when  they  were  living  in  Florence,  an- 
other little  girl  came  to  them,  and  they  decided  to 
name  her  also  after  the  city  of  her  birth. 

When  Florence  was  still  a  very  little  child  her 
parents  came  back  to  England  to  live,  bringing  the 
two  children  with  them.  First  they  went  to  a  house 
called  Lea  Hall,  in  Derbyshire.  It  was  an  old,  old 
house  of  gray  stone,  standing  on  a  hill,  in  meadows 
full  of  buttercups  and  clover.  All  about  were  blos- 
soming hedgerows  full  of  wild  roses,  and  great 
elder-bushes  heavy  with  white  blossoms ;  and  on  the 
hillside  below  it  lies  the  quaint  old  village  of  Lea 
with  its  curious  little  stone  houses. 

Lea  Hall  is  a  farmhouse  now,  but  it  still  has  its 


HOW   FLORENCE   GOT   HER   NAME.  3 

old  flag-paved  hall  and  its  noble  staircase  of  oak 
with  twisted  balustrade,  and  broad  solid  steps  where 
little  Florence  and  her  sister  "  Parthe  "  used  to  play 
and  creep  and  tumble.  There  was  another  place 
near  by  where  they  loved  even  better  to  play;  that 
was  the  ancient  house  of  Dethick.  I  ought  rather 
to  say  the  ancient  kitchen,  for  little  else  remained 
of  the  once  stately  mansion.  The  rest  of  the  house 
was  comparatively  new,  but  the  great  kitchen  was 
(and  no  doubt  is)  much  as  it  was  in  the  days  of 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

Imagine  a  great  room  with  heavy  timbered  roof, 
ponderous  oaken  doors,  and  huge  open  fireplace  over 
which  hung  the  ancient  roasting  jack.  In  the  ceiling 
was  a  little  trap-door,  which  looked  as  if  it  might 
open  on  the  roof ;  but  in  truth  it  was  the  entrance  to 
a  chamber  hidden  away  under  the  roof,  a  good-sized 
room,  big  enough  for  several  persons  to  hide  in. 

Florence  and  her  sister  loved  to  imagine  the 
scenes  that  had  taken  place  in  that  old  kitchen; 
strange  and  thrilling,  perhaps  terrible  scenes;  they 
knew  the  story  of  Dethick,  and  now  you  shall  hear 
it  too. 

In   that   old   time    which   Tennyson    calls  "  the 


4  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

spacious  days  of  great  Elizabeth/'  Dethick  belonged 
to  a  noble  family  named  Babington.  It  was  a  fine 
house  then.  The  oaken  door  of  the  old  kitchen 
opened  on  long  corridors  and  passages,  which  in 
turn  led  to  stately  halls  and  noble  galleries.  There 
were  turrets  and  balconies  overlooking  beautiful 
gardens;  and  on  the  stone  terraces  gay  lords  and 
ladies  used  to  walk  and  laugh  and  make  merry, 
and  little  children  run  and  play  and  dance,  and  life 
go  on  very  much  as  it  does  now,  with  work  and 
play,  love  and  laughter  and  tears. 

One  of  the  gay  people  who  used  to  walk  there 
was  Anthony  Babington.  He  was  a  gallant  young 
gentleman,  an  ardent  Catholic,  and  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots. 

Though  ardent  and  devoted,  Babington  was  a 
weak  and  foolish  young  man.  He  fell  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  certain  Ballard,  an  artful  and  designing 
person  who  had  resolved  to  bring  about  the 
death  of  the  great  English  Queen,  and  was  induced 
by  him  to  form  the  plot  which  is  known  in  history 
as  Babington's  Conspiracy;  so  he  was  brought  to 
ruin  and  death. 


HOW   FLORENCE   GOT   HER   NAME.  5 

In  the  year  1586  Queen  Mary  was  imprisoned 
at  Wingfield  Manor,  a  country  house  only  a  few 
miles  distant  from  Dethick.  The  conspirators  gath- 
ered other  Catholic  noblemen  about  them,  and 
planned  to  release  Queen  Mary  and  set  her  once 
more  on  the  throne. 

They  used  to  meet  at  Dethick,  where,  it  is  said, 
there  is  a  secret  passage  underground  leading  to 
Wingfield  Manor.  Perhaps — ^who  knows? — ^they 
may  have  sat  in  the  kitchen,  gathering  about  the 
great  fireplace  for  warmth;  the  lights  out,  for  fear 
of  spies,  only  the  firelight  gleaming  here  and  there, 
lighting  up  the  dark  corners  and  the  eager,  intent 
faces.  And  when  the  plot  was  discovered,  and 
Queen  Elizabeth's  soldiers  were  searching  the  coun- 
try round  for  the  young  conspirators,  riding  hither 
and  thither  along  the  pleasant  country  lanes  and 
thrusting  their  sabres  in  among  the  blossoming 
hedgerows,  it  was  here  at  Dethick  that  they 
sought  for  Anthony  Babington.  They  did  not  find 
him,  for  he  was  in  hiding  elsewhere,  but  one  of 
his  companions  was  actually  discovered  and  ar- 
rested there. 

Perhaps — again,    who    knows? — this    man   may 


6  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

have  been  hiding  in  the  secret  chamber  above  the 
trap-door.  One  can  fancy  the  pursuers  rushing  in, 
flinging  open  cupboards  and  presses,  in  search  for 
their  prey;  and  finding  no  one,  gathering  baffled 
around  the  fireplace.  Then  one,  chancing  to  glance 
up,  catches  sight  of  the  trap-door  in  the  ceiling. 
"  Ha !  lads,  look  up !  the  rascal  may  be  hiding  yon- 
der !  Up  with  you,  you  tall  fellow !  "  Then  a  pil- 
ing up  of  benches,  one  man  mounting  on  another's 
shoulders — ^the  door  forced  open,  the  young  noble- 
man seized  and  overpowered,  and  brought  down  to 
be  carried  off  to  Lx)ndon  for  trial. 

Anthony  Babington  and  his  companions  were  ex- 
ecuted for  high  treason,  and  Queen  Mary,  who  was 
convicted  of  approving  the  plot,  was  put  to  death 
soon  after. 

All  this  Florence  Nightingale  and  her  sister  knew, 
and  they  never  tired  of  "  playing  suppose  "  in  old 
Dethick  kitchen,  and  living  over  again  in  fancy  the 
romantic  time  long  past.  And  on  Sundays  the  two 
children  went  with  their  parents  to  old  Dethick 
church,  and  sat  where  Anthony  Babington  used  to 
sit,  for  in  his  days  it  was  the  private  chapel  of 
Dethick.     It  is  a  tiny  church;  fifty  people  would 


HOW   FLORENCE   GOT   HER   NAME.  7 

fill  it  to  overflowing,  but  Florence  and  her  sister 
might  easily  feel  that  the  four  bare  walls  held  all 
the  wild  history  of  Elizabeth's  reign. 

Anthony  Babington  in  doublet  and  hose,  with 
velvet  mantle,  feathered  cap,  and  sword  by  his  side ; 
little  Florence  Nightingale  in  round  Leghorn  hat 
and  short  petticoats.  It  is  a  long  step  between  these 
two,  yet  they  are  the  two  most  famous  people  who 
ever  said  their  prayers  in  old  Dethick  church.  The 
lad's  brief  and  tragic  story  contrasts  strangely  with 
the  long  and  beautiful  story  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale, a  story  that  has  no  end. 

When  Florence  was  between  five  and  six  years 
old,  she  left  Lea  Hall  for  a  new  home,  Lea  Hurst, 
about  a  mile  distant.  Here  her  father  had  built  a 
beautiful  house  in  the  Elizabethan  style,  of  stone, 
with  pointed  gables,  mullioned  windows  and  lat- 
ticed panes.  There  was  a  tiny  chapel  on  the  site 
he  chose,  hundreds  of  years  old,  and  this  he  built 
into  the  house,  so  that  Lea  Hurst,  as  well  as  Lea 
Hall  and  Dethick,  joined  hands  with  the  old  his- 
toric times.  In  this  little  chapel,  by  and  by,  we 
shall  see  Florence  holding  her  Bible  class.     But  I 

like  still  to  think  of  her  as  a  little  rosy  girl,  running 
2 


8  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

about  the  beautiful  gardens  of  Lea  Hurst,  or  play- 
ing house  in  the  quaint  old  summerhouse  with 
its  pointed  roof  of  thatch.  Perhaps  she  brought  her 
dolls  here;  but  the  dolls  must  wait  for  another 
chapter. 

Soon  after  moving  to  Lea  Hurst,  the  Night- 
ingales bought  still  another  country  seat,  Embley 
Park,  in  Hampshire,  a  fine  old  mansion  built  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  and  at  some  distance  from 
Lea  Hurst. 

After  this  the  family  used  to  spend  the  summer 
at  Lea  Hurst,  and  the  winter  at  Embley.  There 
were  no  railroads  then  in  that  neighborhood;  the 
journey  was  sometimes  made  by  stagecoach,  some- 
times in  the  Nightingales'  own  carriage. 

Embley  Park  is  one  of  the  stately  homes  of  Eng- 
land, with  its  lofty  gables,  terraces  and  shadowing 
trees;  and  all  around  it  are  sunny  lawns,  and  gar- 
dens filled  with  every  sweet  and  lovely  flower. 

Now  you  know  a  little  of  the  three  homes  of 
Florence  Nightingale,  Lea  Hall,  Lea  Hurst,  and 
Embley  Park;  next  you  shall  hear  what  kind  of 
child  she  herself  was. 


CHAPTER    II. 

LITTLE     FLORENCE. 

LL  the  boys,  and  very  likely  some  of  the 
girls,  who  have  got  as  far  as  this  sec- 
ond chapter,  will  glance  down  the  page, 
and  exclaim :  "  Dolls!  "  Then  they  will 
add  whatever  is  their  favorite  expression  of  scorn, 
and  perhaps  make  a  motion  to  lay  the  book  down. 

Wait  a  moment,  girls,  and  boys  too!  I  advise 
you  to  read  on,  and  see  what  came  in  this  case  of 
playing  with  dolls. 

There  were  a  good  many  thousands  of  boys  in 
England  at  that  time,  in  the  Twenties  and  Thirties, 
who  might  have  been  badly  off  when  the  terrible 
Fifties  came,  if  Florence  Nightingale  had  not 
played  with  her  dolls.  Read  on,  and  see  for  your- 
selves ! 

Florence  Nightingale  loved  her  dolls  dearly,  and 
took  the  greatest  possible  care  of  them;  and  yet 

9 


10  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

they  were  always  delicate  and  given  to  sudden  and 
alarming  illnesses.  A  doll  never  knew  when  she 
might  be  told  that  she  was  very  ill,  and  undressed 
and  put  to  bed,  though  she  might  but  just  have 
got  on  her  new  frock.  Then  Mamma  Florence 
would  wait  upon  her  tenderly,  smoothing  her  pil- 
low, bathing  her  forehead  or  rubbing  her  poor  back, 
and  bringing  her  all  kinds  of  good  things  in  the 
doll-house  dishes.  The  doll  might  feel  very  much 
better  the  next  day,  and  think  it  was  time  to  get  up 
and  put  on  the  new  frock  again;  but  she  was  very 
apt  to  have  a  relapse  and  go  back  to  bed  and  gruel 
again,  once  at  least,  before  she  was  allowed  to  re- 
cover entirely. 

The  truth  is,  Florence  was  bom  to  be  a  nurse,  and 
a  sick  doll  was  dearer  to  her  than  a  strong  and 
healthy  one.  So  I  fear  her  dolls  would  have  been 
invalids  most  of  the  time  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Parthenope's  little  family,  who  often  required  their 
Aunt  Florence's  care.  These  dolls  were  very  un- 
lucky, or  else  their  mamma  was  very  careless;  you 
can  call  it  whichever  you  like.  They  were  always 
tumbling  down  and  breaking  their  heads,  or  los- 
ing   arms    and    legs,  or  burning  themselves  at  the 


LITTLE   FLORENCE.  n 

nursery  fire,  or  suffering  from  doll's  consumption, 
that  dreadful  complaint  otherwise  known  as  loss 
of  sawdust.  When  these  things  happened,  Aunt 
Florence  was  called  in  as  a  matter  of  course; 
and  she  set  the  fractures,  and  salved  the  burns,  and 
stopped  the  flow  of  sawdust,  and  proved  herself 
in  every  way  a  most  skillful  nursery  surgeon  and 
physician. 

So  it  was  that  unconsciously,  and  in  play,  Florence 
began  her  training  for  her  life  work.  She  was  hav- 
ing lessons,  of  course ;  arithmetic,  and  all  the  other 
proper  things.  She  and  Parthe  had  a  govern- 
ess, and  studied  regularly,  and  had  music  and  draw- 
ing lessons  besides;  and  her  father  taught  her  to 
love  English  literature,  and  later  opened  to  her  the 
great  doors  marked  Latin  and  Greek.  Her  mother, 
meantime,  taught  her  all  kinds  of  handiwork,  and 
before  she  was  twelve  years  old  she  could  hem- 
stitch, and  seam  and  embroider.  These  things  were 
all  good,  and  very  good;  without  them  she  could 
not  have  accomplished  all  she  did;  but  in  the  years 
that  were  to  come  all  the  other  learning  was  going 
to  help  that  wonderful  learning  that  began  with 
nursing  the  sick  dolls. 


12  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Soon  she  was  to  take  another  step  in  her  profes- 
sion. The  little  fingers  grown  so  skillful  by  bandag- 
ing waxen  and  china  arms  and  legs,  were  now  to 
save  a  living,  loving  creature  from  death. 

To  every  English  child  this  story  is  a  nursery 
tale.  No  doubt  it  is  to  many  American  children 
also,  yet  it  is  one  that  no  one  can  ever  tire  of  hear- 
ing, so  I  shall  tell  it  again. 

Much  as  Florence  loved  dolls,  she  loved  animals 
better,  and  in  her  country  homes  she  was  surrounded 
by  them.  There  was  her  dog,  who  hardly  left  her 
side  when  she  was  out  of  doors;  there  was  her 
own  pony  on  which  she  rode  every  day  over  dale 
and  down;  her  sister^s  pony,  too,  and  old  Peggy, 
who  was  too  old  to  work,  and  lived  in  a  pleasant 
green  paddock  with  nothing  to  do  but  amuse  her- 
self and  crop  grass  all  day  long.  Perhaps  Peggy 
found  this  tiresome,  for  whenever  she  saw  Flor- 
ence at  the  gate  she  would  toss  her  head  and  whinny 
and  come  trotting  up  to  the  gate.  "  Good  morn- 
ing, Peggy !  "  Florence  would  say.  "  Would  you 
like  an  apple  ?  " 

**Hooonh!"  Peggy  would  say.  (Horses  have 
no  spelling  books,  and  there  is  no  exact  rule  as  to 


LITTLE   FLORENCE.  .13 

how  a  whinny  should  be  spelled.  You  may  try  any 
other  way  that  looks  to  you  more  natural.) 

"  Then  look  for  it !  "  Florence  would  reply.  At 
this  Peggy  would  sniff  and  snuff,  and  hunt  round 
with  her  soft  velvety  nose  till  she  found  Florence's 
pocket,  then  delicately  take  out  the  apple  and  crunch 
it  up,  and  whinny  again,  the  second  whinny  mean- 
ing at  once  "  Thank  you !  "  and  "  More,  please !  " 
Horse  language  is  a  simple  one  compared  to  Eng- 
lish, and  has  no  grammar. 

Well,  one  day  Florence  was  riding  her  pony  in 
company  with  her  friend  the  vicar.  This  good  man 
loved  all  living  creatures,  but  there  were  few  dearer 
to  him  than  Florence  Nightingale.  They  had  the 
same  tastes  and  feelings.  Both  loved  to  help  and 
comfort  all  who  were  "  in  trouble,  sorrow,  need, 
sickness,  or  any  other  adversity.''  He  had  studied 
medicine  before  he  became  a  clergyman,  and  so  was 
able  to  tell  her  many  things  about  the  care  of  the 
sick  and  injured.  Here  was  another  teacher.  I 
suppose  everyone  we  know  could  teach  us  some- 
thing good,  if  we  were  ready  to  learn. 

As  I  said,  Florence  and  the  vicar  were  riding 
along  on  the  green  downs;  and  here  I  must  stop 


14  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

again  a  moment  to  tell  you  what  the  downs  are, 
for  when  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  wonder.  They 
are  great  rounded  hills,  covered  with  close,  thick 
turf,  like  a  velvet  carpet.  They  spread  in  long 
smooth  green  billows,  miles  and  miles  of  them,  the 
slopes  so  gentle  that  it  is  delightful  to  drive  or 
ride  on  them;  only  you  must  be  careful  not  to  go 
near  the  edge,  where  the  green  breaks  off  suddenly, 
and  a  white  chalk  cliff  goes  down,  down,  hundreds 
of  feet,  to  the  blue  sea  tossing  and  tumbling  be- 
low. These  are  the  white  cliffs  of  England  that 
you  have  so  often  read  about. 

Am  I  never  going  on  with  the  story  ?  Yes ;  have 
patience !  there  is  plenty  of  time. 

There  were  many  sheep  on  the  downs,  and  there 
was  one  special  flock  that  Florence  knew  very  well. 
It  belonged  to  old  Roger,  a  shepherd,  who  had  often 
worked  for  her  father.  Roger  and  his  good  dog 
Cap  were  both  friends  of  Florence's,  and  she  was 
used  to  seeing  them  on  the  downs,  the  sheep  in  a 
more  or  less  orderly  compact  flock.  Cap  guarding 
them  and  driving  back  any  stragglers  who  went 
nibbling  off  toward  the  cliff  edge. 

But   to-day   there    seemed   no    order   anywhere. 


LITTLE   FLORENCE.  15 

The  sheep  were  scattered  in  twos  and  threes,  stray- 
ing hither  and  thither;  and  old  Roger  alone  was 
trying  to  collect  them,  and  apparently  having  a  hard 
time  of  it. 

The  vicar  saw  his  trouble,  and  rode  up  to  him. 
"  What  is  the  matter,  Roger  ?  "  he  asked  kindly. 
"  Where  is  your  dog  ?  " 

"  The  boys  have  been  throwing  stones  at  him, 
sir,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  They  have  broken  his 
leg,  poor  beast,  and  he  will  never  be  good  for  any- 
thing again.  I  shall  have  to  take  a  bit  of  cord  and 
put  an  end  to  his  misery." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Florence,  who  had  ridden  up  with 
the  vicar.  "  Poor  Cap !  Are  you  sure  his  leg  is 
broken,  Roger? " 

"  Yes,  Miss,  it's  broke  sure  enough.  He  hasn't 
set  foot  to  the  ground  since,  and  no  one  can't  go 
anigh  him  but  me.  Best  put  him  out  of  his  pain^ 
I  says." 

"  No !  no !  "  cried  Florence.  "  Not  till  we  have 
tried  to  help  him.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  in  the  cottage,  Missy,  but  you  can  do  noth- 
ing for  him,  you'll  find.  Poor  Cap's  days  is  over. 
Ah ;  he  were  a  good  dog.    Do  everything  but  speak, 


l6  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

he  could,  and  went  as  near  to  that  as  a  dumb  beast 
could.    I'll  never  get  another  like  him." 

While  the  old  man  lamented,  Florence  was  look- 
ing eagerly  in  the  face  of  the  clergyman.  He  met 
her  look  with  a  smile  and  nod. 

"  We  will  go  and  see !  "  he  said ;  and  off  they 
rode,  leaving  Roger  shaking  his  head  and  calling 
to  the  sheep. 

They  soon  reached  the  cottage.  The  door  was 
fastened,  and  when  they  tried  to  open  it  a  furious 
barking  was  heard  within.  A  little  boy  came  from 
the  next  cottage,  bringing  the  key,  which  Roger  had 
left  there.  They  entered,  and  there  lay  Cap  on  the 
brick  floor,  helpless  and  weak,  but  still  barking  as 
hard  as  he  could  at  what  he  supposed  to  be  in- 
truders. When  he  saw  Florence  and  the  little  boy 
he  stopped  barking,  and  wagged  his  tail  feebly ;  then 
he  crawled  from  under  the  table  where  he  lay, 
dragged  himself  to  Florence's  feet  and  looked  up 
pitifully  in  her  face.  She  knelt  down  by  him,  and 
soothed  and  petted  and  talked  to  him,  while  the  good 
clergyman  examined  the  injured  leg.  It  was  dread- 
fully swollen,  and  every  touch  was  painful ;  but  Cap 
knew  well  enough  that  the  hands  that  hurt  were 


LITTLE   FLORENCE.  17 

trying  to  help  him,  and  though  he  moaned  and 
winced,  he  Hcked  the  hands  and  made  no  effort  to 
draw  the  leg  away. 

"  Is  it  broken  ? "  asked  Florence  anxiously. 
"  No,''  said  the  vicar.  "  No  bones  are  broken. 
There's  no  reason  why  Cap  should  not  recover;  all 
he  needs  is  care  and  nursing." 

Florence  quietly  laid  down  her  riding  whip  and 
tucked  up  her  sleeves.  "What  shall  I  do  first?" 
she  said. 

"  Well,"  said  the  vicar^  "  I  think  a  hot  compress 
is  the  thing."  Florence  looked  puzzled;  the  dolls 
had  never  had  hot  compresses.  **  What  is  it  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Just  a  cloth  wrung  out  in  boiling  water  and  laid 
on,  changing  it  as  it  cools.  Very  simple,  you  see. 
Nurse  Florence !    The  first  thing  is  to  light  the  fire." 

That  was  soon  done,  with  the  aid  of  the  boy, 
who  hovered  about,  interested,  but  ignorant  of  sur- 
gery. On  went  the  kettle,  and  soon  it  was  boiling 
merrily;  but  where  were  the  cloths  for  the  com- 
presses? Florence  looked  all  about  the  room,  but 
could  see  nothing  save  Roger's  clean  smock  frock 
which  hung  against  the  door. 


l8  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

"  This  will  do !  "  she  cried.  "  Mamma  will  give 
him  another." 

The  vicar  nodded  approval.  Quickly  she  tore  the 
frock  into  strips  of  suitable  width  and  length ;  bade 
the  boy  fill  a  basin  from  the  kettle,  and  then 
kneeling  down  beside  the  wounded  dog,  Florence 
Nightingale  for  the  first  time  gave  "  first  aid  to  the 
wounded." 

As  the  heat  drew  out  the  inflammation  and  pain, 
Cap  looked  up  at  the  little  helper,  all  his  simple  dog 
heart  shining  in  his  eyes;  the  look  sank  into  the 
child's  heart  and  deepened  the  tenderness  already 
there.  Another  step,  and  a  great  one,  was  taken 
on  the  blessed  road  she  was  to  travel. 

Florence  came  again  the  next  day  to  bandage 
the  leg ;  Cap  got  entirely  well,  and  tended  sheep  for 
many  a  year  after  that;  and  old  Roger  was  very 
grateful,  and  Mrs.  Nightingale  gave  him  a  new 
smock  frock,  and  everyone  was  happy;  and  that  is 
the  end  of  the  story. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     squire's     daughter. 

T  soon  became  a  recognized  thing  in 
Florence's  own  home  and  in  all  the 
neighborhood,  that  she  was  one  of  the 
Sisters  of  Mercy.  Nothing  was  too 
small,  no  creature  too  humble  to  awaken  her  sym- 
pathy and  tenderness.  When  the  stable  cat  had  kit- 
tens, Florence  was  the  first  to  visit  them,  to  fondle 
the  tiny  creatures  and  soothe  their  mother's  angry 
fear.  When  she  walked  along  the  pleasant  w^ood 
roads  of  Lea  Hurst,  the  squirrels  expected  nuts  as 
a  matter  of  course,  and  could  hardly  wait  for  her 
to  give  them.  When  anyone  in  the  village  or  farm 
fell  ill,  it  was  Florence  who  was  looked  for  to  cheer 
and  comfort.  Mrs.  Nightingale  was  a  most  kind 
and  charitable  lady,  and  delighted  in  sending  delica- 
cies to  the  sick.  It  was  Florence's  happy  privilege 
to  carry  them,  and  whether  she  walked  or  rode  there 

19 


20  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

was  apt  to  be  a  basket  on  her  arm  or  fastened  to 
her  saddlebow. 

If  you  think  hard,  you  can  see — at  least  I  can — 
just  how  it  would  be.  Old  Goody  Brown's  rheu- 
matism, let  us  say,  was  very  bad  one  morning.  You 
children  who  read  this  know  little  about  rheuma- 
tism. Very  likely  you  think  it  rather  a  funny  word, 
and  that  it  is  just  a  thing  that  old  people  have,  and 
that  they  make  a  good  deal  of  fuss  about.  If 
it  were  a  toothache,  now,  you  say,  or  colic — but 
the  truth  is,  no  pain  is  in  any  way  pleasant.  If  a 
red-hot  sword  were  run  into  your  back  you  would 
not  like  it?  Well,  sometimes  rheumatism  is  like 
that. 

So  old  Goody  Brown  was  suffering,  and  very 
cross,  just  as  we  might  be ;  and  nothing  suited  her, 
poor  old  soul ;  her  tea  was  too  hot,  and  her  porridge 
too  cold,  and  her  pillow  set  askew,  and — dear !  dear ! 
dear !  she  wished  she  was  dead,  so  she  did.  Martha, 
her  good  patient  daughter,  was  at  her  wits'  ends. 

*'  Send  to  the  *  All' ! "  said  poor  old  Goody. 
"  Send  for  Miss  Florence !  She'll  do  something  for 
me,  I  know." 

So  a  barefoot  boy  would  trudge  up  to  the  great 


THE   SQUIRE'S   DAUGHTER.  21 

house,  and  very  soon  a  light,  sHght  figure  would 
come  quickly  along  the  village  street  and  enter  the 
cottage.  A  slender  girl,  quietly  dressed,  with  per- 
fect neatness  and  taste ;  brown  hair  smoothly  parted, 
shining  like  satin;  gray-blue  eyes  full  of  light  and 
thoughtfulness ;  regular  features,  an  oval  face, 
cheeks  faintly  tinted  with  rose — ^this  was  Florence 
Nightingale. 

I  cannot  tell  you  just  what  she  had  in  the  little 
basket  on  her  arm,  whether  jelly  or  broth  or  chicken 
or  oranges;  there  was  sure  to  be  something  good 
beside  the  liniment  and  medicines  to  help  the  ach- 
ing back  and  limbs.  But  the  basket  held  the  least 
of  what  she  brought.  At  the  very  sound  of  her 
voice  the  fretful  lines  melted  away  from  the  poor 
old  face.  I  cannot  tell  you — I  wish  I  could — the 
words  she  said,  this  little  Sister  of  Mercy,  yet  I  can 
almost  hear  her  speak,  in  that  sweet,  cordial  voice 
whose  range  held  no  harsh  note;  can  see  her  set- 
ting the  pillow  straight  and  smooth,  making  the  lit- 
tle tray  dainty  and  pretty  with  the  posy  she  had 
brought,  coaxing  the  old  woman  to  eat,  making  her 
laugh  over  some  story  of  her  pets  and  their  droll 
ways.     Perhaps  before  leaving  she  would  open  the 


22  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

worn  Bible  or  prayer  book,  and  read  a  psalm;  can 
you  not  see  her  sitting  by  the  bedside,  her  pretty 
head  bent  over  the  book,  her  face  full  of  tender- 
ness and  reverence  ?  I  am  sure  that  when  she  went 
away  there  was  peace  and  comfort  in  that  cottage 
room,  and  that  heartfelt  blessings  followed  the  "  An- 
gel Child "  as  she  went  on  her  homeward  way. 
"  She  had  a  way  with  her,"  they  said ;  and  that 
meant  more  than  volumes  of  praise. 

The  flowers  that  Florence  used  to  carry  were 
from  her  own  garden,  I  like  to  think.  Both  at 
Lea  Hurst  and  Embley,  she  and  her  sister  had 
each  her  own  little  garden  and  gardening  tools. 
Florence  was  a  good  gardener;  indeed,  I  think  she 
was  a  good  everything  that  she  tried  to  be,  just 
because  she  tried.  She  dug,  and  sowed,  and 
watered,  pruned  and  tied  up  and  did  all  the  things 
a  garden  needs;  and  so  her  garden  was  full  of 
flowers  all  summer  long,  giving  delight  to  her  and 
to  every  sick  or  lonely  or  sorrowful  person  ioi 
miles  around. 

As  Florence  and  her  sister  grew  older  they  be^ 
came  more  and  more  helpful  to  their  parents  in  the 
good  works  that  they  both  loved  to  carry  on.     I 


THE   SQUIRE'S   DAUGHTER.  23 

have  read  a  delightful  account  of  the  "  feast  day  " 
of  the  village  school-children,  as  it  used  to  be  given 
at  Lea  Hurst  when  Florence  was  a  girl. 

The  children  gathered  together  at  the  school- 
house,  all  in  their  best  frocks  and  pinafores,  and 
walked  in  procession  up  the  street  and  through  the 
fields  to  Lea  Hurst.  Each  child  carried  a  posy  and 
a  stick  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  at  the  head  of 
the  procession  marched  a  band  of  music,  provided 
by  the  good  squire.  In  the  field  below  the  garden 
tables  were  set,  and  here  Mrs.  Nightingale  and  her 
daughters,  aided  by  the  servants,  served  tea  and 
buns  and  cakes,  waiting  on  their  little  guests,  and 
seeing  that  every  child  got  all  he  wanted — or  at 
least  all  that  was  good  for  him.  Then  when  all 
had  eaten  and  drunk  their  fill,  the  band  struck  up, 
and  the  boys  and  girls  danced  on  the  green  to  their 
hearts'  content. 

What  did  they  dance?  Polkas,  perhaps,  and  the 
redowa,  a  pretty  round  dance  with  a  good  deal  of 
stamping  in  it ;  and  of  course  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley, 
which  is  very  like  our  Virginia  Reel.  (If  you  do 
not  know  about  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  himself, 
ask  papa  to  tell  you  or  read  you  about  him,  for  he 


24  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

is  one  of  the  pleasantest  persons  you  will  ever 
know.) 

Perhaps  they  sang,  too;  perhaps  they  sang  the 
pretty  old  Maypole  Song.     Do  you  know  it? 

Come  lasses  and  lads,  get  leave  of  your  dads, 

And  away  to  the  Maypole  hie, 

For  ev'ry  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 

And  the  fiddler's  standing  by. 

For  Willy  shall  dance  with  Jane, 

And  Johnny  has  got  his  Joan, 

To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it. 

Trip  it  up  and  down. 

"You're  out!"  says  Dick,  "not  I,"  says  Nick, 

"  'Twas  the  fiddler  play'd  it  wrong." 

"'Tis  true,"  says  Hugh,  and  so  says  Sue, 

And  so  says  ev'ry  one; 

The  fiddler  then  began 

To  play  the  tune  again, 

And  ev'ry  girl  did  trip  it,  trip  it, 

Trip  it  to  the  men. 

Then  when  feast  and  dance  and  song  were  all 
over,  it  was  time  to  re-form  the  procession  and  take 
up  the  homeward  march.  The  two  sisters,  Florence 
and  Parthe,  had  disappeared  during  the  dancing; 
but  now,  as  the  procession  passed  along  the  ter- 


THE   SQUIRE'S  DAUGHTER.  25 

race,  there  they  were,  standing  behind  a  long 
table;  a  table  at  sight  of  which  the  children's 
eyes  grew  round  and  bright,  for  it  was  covered 
from  end  to  end  with  presents.  Such  delightful 
presents!  Books,  and  pretty  boxes  and  baskets, 
thimble-cases  and  needle-books  and  pin-cushions; 
dolls,  too,  I  am  sure,  for  the  little  ones,  and  scrap- 
books,  and — but  you  can  fill  up  the  list  for  your- 
self with  everything  you  like  best  in  the  way  of 
pretty,  simple,  useful  gifts.  I  am  quite  sure  that 
Florence  would  not  have  wished  to  give  the  chil- 
dren foolish  or  elaborate  gimcracks,  and  that  Mr. 
Nightingale  would  never  have  allowed  it  if  she  had ; 
and  I  think  it  probable  that  many  of  the  gifts  were 
made  by  the  two  sisters  and  their  kind  and  clever 
mother. 

All  about  Lea  Hurst,  in  many  and  many  a  pleas- 
ant cottage  home,  those  little  gifts  are  treasured 
to-day  like  the  relics  of  some  blessed  saint;  which 
indeed  is  just  what  they  are.  The  saint  is  still  liv- 
ing, and  some  of  the  children  of  the  school  feasts 
are  living,  too,  and  now  in  their  age  will  show  with 
pride  and  joy  the  gifts  they  received  long  ago  from 
the  hands  of  the  beloved  Miss  Florence. 


26  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

As  Florence  grew  up  to  womanhood  she  found 
more  and  more  work  to  do.  There  were  mills  and 
factories  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lea  Hurst;  and 
in  the  hosiery  mills,  especially,  hundreds  of  women 
and  girls  were  employed,  many  of  whom  lived  on 
the  Nightingale  estate. 

She  may  have  been  seventeen  or  eighteen  when 
she  started  her  Bible  class  for  the  young  women 
of  the  district,  holding  it  in  the  tiny  ancient  chapel 
at  Lea  Hurst  which  I  described  in  the  first  chap- 
ter. Gathering  the  girls  around  her,  she  would  read 
a  chapter  from  the  Bible,  and  then  give  them  her 
thoughts  about  it,  and  explain  the  difficult  passages ; 
then  they  would  all  sing  together,  her  sweet,  clear 
voice  leading  the  hymns.  Here  is  another  memory 
very  precious  to  the  old  women  who  were  once  those 
happy  girls.  They  love  to  tell  "  how  beautifully 
Miss  Florence  used  to  talk." 

Long  years  after,  when  Miss  Nightingale,  spent 
with  her  noble  labors,  would  come  to  Lea  Hurst 
for  a  time  of  rest  and  refreshment,  the  daughters 
of  these  girls  counted  it  a  high  privilege  to  gather 
on  the  lawn  under  her  window  and  sing  to  her  as 
she  sat  in  the  room  above;  and  would  go  home 


THE   SQUIRE'S   DAUGHTER.  27 

proud  and  happy  as  queens  if  they  had  seen  the 
saintly  face  smiling  from  the  window. 

Shall  I  try  to  show  you  Florence  Nightingale 
at  seventeen  ?  Her  face  was  little  changed  from  that 
of  the  girl  we  saw  in  the  cottage,  cheering  old 
Goody  Brown.  She  still  wore  her  hair  brushed 
smoothly  "  Madonna-wise  "  on  either  side  her  face ; 
often,  now,  she  wore  a  rose  at  the  side,  tucked  in 
among  the  shining  braids  or  coils.  You  would 
think  her  frocks  very  queer  if  you  saw  them  to- 
day, but  then  they  were  extremely  pretty;  full 
skirts  (no  crinoline!  that  was  to  come  later)  and 
full  sleeves,  with  broad  flat  collar  of  lace  or  em- 
broidery. When  she  went  to  church  or  to  make  visits 
she  wore  a  spencer,  a  kind  of  full  plaited  jacket 
with  a  belt,  something  like  a  Norfolk  jacket— only 
different!  and  a  Leghorn  bonnet.  You  have  seen 
pictures  of  the  Leghorn  bonnets  of  the  Thirties  and 
Forties ;  "  coal-scuttles,''  some  people  called  them, 
and  they  were  something  the  shape  of  a  scuttle. 
Some  of  them  were  enormous  in  size,  and  they 
look  queer  enough  now  in  the  pictures,  or — if  your 
grandmamma  had  a  way  of  keeping  things — in  the 
"  dress-up "  trunk  or  cupboard  in  the  attic.     But 


28  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

people  who  were  young  in  those  days  tell  me  that 
they  were  extremely  becoming,  and  that  a  pretty 
face  never  looked  prettier  that  when  it  peeped  out 
from  the  depths  of  a  huge  straw  "  coal-scuttle." 

When  Florence  rode  on  horseback,  her  habit  was 
so  long  that  it  nearly  touched  the  ground  (that  is, 
if  she  followed  the  fashion  of  the  day,  but  I  should 
not  wonder  a  bit  if  she  and  her  mother  were  too 
sensible!)  and  she  wore  a  round,  broad-brimmed 
hat  with  long  ostrich  plumes.  I  remember  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Princess  Royal  (afterwards  Empress 
Frederick  of  Germany),  in  a  costume  like  this, 
which  I  thought  one  of  the  most  beautiful  things 
I  ever  saw,  so  I  shall  imagine  Florence,  on  an  after- 
noon ride  with  the  squire,  let  us  say,  dressed  in 
this  way ;  but  when  scampering  about  on  her  pony, 
I  trust,  she  wore  a  less  cumbrous  costume. 
^-^'You  will  remember  that  the  Nightingales  spent 
the  winter  at  Embley  Park,  in  Hampshire.  Here, 
too,  Florence  was  busy  in  good  and  helpful  work. 
At  Christmas  time  she  found  her  best  pleasure  in 
giving  presents  to  young  and  old  among  the  poor 
people  about  her,  in  getting  up  entertainments  for 
the    children,    training    them    to    sing,    arranging 


THE  SQUIRE'S  DAUGHTER.  29 

treats  for  the  old  people  in  the  poorhouse.  On 
Christmas  Eve  the  village  carol  singers  would  come 
and  sing  on  the  lawn;  old  English  carols,  that  had 
been  sung  by  generation  after  generatioi>.  Poor  An- 
thony Babington  over  at  Lea  Hall  may  have  listened 
on  Christmas  Eve  to  the  same  sweet  old  songs. 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking, 
He  heard  an  angel  sing, 
"This  night  shall  be  the  birthnight 
Of  Christ  our  heavenly  King. 

"His  birth-bed  shall  be  neither 
In  housen  nor  in  hall, 
Nor  in  the  place  of  paradise. 
But  in  the  oxen's  stall. 

"He  neither  shall  be  rocked 
In  silver  nor  in  gold, 
But  in  the  wooden  manger 
That  lieth  in  the  mold. 

"He  neither  shall  be  washen 

With  white  wine  nor  with  red. 
But  with  the  fair  spring  water 
That  on  you  shall  be  shed. 

"He  neither  shall  be  clothed 

In  purple  nor  in  pall. 

But  in  the  fair  white  linen 

That  usen  babies  all." 


3©  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking, 
Thus  did  the  angel  sing, 

And  Mary's  son  at  midnight 
Was  bom  to  be  our  King. 

Then  be  you  glad,  good  people, 
At  this  time  of  the  year; 

And  light  you  up  your  candles, 
For  His  star  it  shineth  clear. 


Then  who  so  glad  as  Florence  to  call  the  singers 
in  and  bid  them  welcome  and  "  Merry  Christmas !  " 
and  aid  in  distributing  the  mince  pies  and  silver 
coins  which  were  always  their  due. 

When  Florence  was  fairly  "  grown  up,"  other 
things  came  into  her  life,  the  gay  and  merry  things 
that  come  to  so  many  girls.  Mr.  Nightingale  was 
a  man  of  wealth  and  position,  and  liked  his  wife 
and  daughters  to  have  their  share  in  the  gayeties 
of  the  county.  So  there  were  many  parties,  at 
Embley  and  elsewhere,  and  Florence  danced  as 
gayly,  I  doubt  not,  as  the  other  girls.  She  went 
to  London,  too,  and  ^he  and  her  sister  were  pre- 
sented to  Queen  Victoria,  and  had  their  share  of  the 
brilliant  society  of  the  time. 

But  much  as  she  may  have  enjoyed  all  this  for 


THE   SQUIRE'S   DAUGHTER.  31 

a  time,  still  her  heart  was  not  in  it,  and  she  soon 
tired,  I  fancy,  of  dancing-  and  dressing  and  visit- 
ing. Already  her  mind  was  turning  to  other  things, 
already  her  clear  eyes  were  looking  forward  to 
other  ways  of  life^  other  methods  of  work. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

LOOKING     OUT. 


jf  TEP  by  step,  and  all  unconsciously,  Flor- 
ence Nightingale  had  been  training  her 
hand  and  eye  to  follow  the  dictates  of 
her  keen  mind  and  loving  heart.  Now, 
grown  a  young  woman^  she  began  to  think  seri- 
ously how  she  should  apply  this  training.  What 
should  she  do  with  her  life?  Should  she  go  on 
like  her  friends,  in  the  quiet  pleasant  ways  of  coun- 
try life?  The  squire's  daughter  was  busy  enough, 
surely.  Every  hour  of  the  day  was  full  of  use- 
ful, kindly  work,  of  happy,  healthy  play;  should 
she  be  content  with  this?  Her  heart  told  her  that 
she  was  not  content.  In  her  friendly  visiting  among 
the  sick  poor  she  had  seen  much  misery  and  suf- 
fering, far  more  than  she  and  all  the  other  kindly 
ladies  could  attempt  to  relieve.  She  felt  that  some- 
thing more  was  needed;  she  began  to  look  around 
to  see  what  was  being  done  in  the  larger  world. 


LOOKING   OUT.  33 

It  was  about  this  time  that  she  met  Elizabeth 
Fry,  the  noble  and  beautiful  friend  of  the  prisoner. 
Mrs.  Fry  was  then  an  elderly  woman,  with  all  the 
glory  of  her  saintly  life  shining  about  her ;  Florence 
Nightingale  an  earnest  and  thoughtful  girl  of  per- 
haps eighteen  or  twenty.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  of 
that  meeting.  I  do  not  know  what  words  passed 
between  them,  but  I  can  almost  see  them  together, 
the  beautiful  stately  woman  in  her  Quaker  dress, 
the  slender  girl  with  her  quiet  face  and  earnest  eyes ; 
can  almost  hear  the  young  voice,  questioning,  eager 
and  ardent;  the  elder  answering,  grave  and  sedate, 
words  full  of  weight  and  wisdom,  of  sweetness  and 
tenderness.  This  interview  was  one  of  the  great 
moments  of  Florence  Nightingale's  early  life. 

A  little  later  than  this,  in  1843,  ^^^  ^^^  another 
person  whose  words  and  counsel  impressed  her 
deeply ;  and  of  this  meeting  I  can  give  you  a  clearer 
account,  for  that  person  was  my  own  dear  father, 
Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe.  Some  ten  years  before  this 
my  father  had  decided  to  devote  his  life  to  helping 
people  who  needed  help.  He  had  established  a 
school  for  the  blind  in  Boston;  he  had  brought 
Laura  Bridgman,  the  blind,  deaf  mute,  out  of  her 


34  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

loneliness  and  taught  her  to  read,  write,  and  talk 
with  her  fingers;  the  first  time  this  had  ever  been 
done  with  a  person  so  afflicted.  He  had  labored 
to  help  the  prisoners  and  captives  in  the  North,  and 
the  slaves  in  the  South;  in  short  he  was  what  is 
called  a  philanthropist,  that  is,  one  who  loves  his 
fellow-men  and  tries  to  help  them. 

My  father  and  mother  were  traveling  in  Eng- 
land soon  after  their  marriage,  and  were  invited 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nightingale  to  spend  a  few  days 
at  Embley  Park.  One  morning  Miss  Nightingale 
(for  so  I  must  call  her  now  that  she  is  a  woman) 
met  my  father  in  the  garden  and  said  to  him : 

"  Dr.  Howe,  you  have  had  much  experience  in 
the  world  of  philanthropy;  you  are  a  medical  man 
and  a  gentleman;  now  may  I  ask  you  to  tell  me, 
upon  your  word,  whether  it  would  be  anything  un- 
suitable or  unbecoming  to  a  young  Englishwoman, 
if  she  should  devote  herself  to  works  of  charity,  in 
hospitals  and  elsewhere,  as  the  Catholic  Sisters 
do?" 

My  father  replied :  **  My  dear  Miss  Florence,  it 
would  be  unusual,  and  in  England  whatever  is  un- 
usual is  apt  to  be  thought  unsuitable;  but  I  say  to 


LOOKING   OUT.  35 

you,  go  forward,  if  you  have  a  vocation  for  that 
way  of  life;  act  up  to  your  aspiration,  and  you 
will  find  that  there  is  never  anything  unbecoming 
or  unladylike  in  doing  your  duty  for  the  good  of 
others.  Choose  your  path,  go  on  with  it,  wherever 
it  may  lead  you,  and  God  be  with  you !  " 

It  was  in  this  spirit  that  Miss  Nightingale  now 
began  to  train  herself  for  her  life  work. 

It  is  hard  for  you  children  of  to-day  to  imagine 
what  nursing  was  in  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  To  you  a  nurse  means  a  trim,  alert, 
cheerful  person  in  spotless  raiment,  who  knows  just 
what  to  do  when  you  are  ill,  and  does  it  in  the 
pleasantest  possible  manner ;  you  are  glad  when  she 
comes  into  the  room,  sorry  when  she  leaves.  But 
this  pleasant  person  did  not  exist  in  those  days, 
except  in  the  guise  of  a  Catholic  Sister  of  Charity. 
The  other  nurses  were  for  the  most  part  coarse  and 
ignorant  women,  often  cruel^  often  intemperate. 
When  you  read  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit "  you  will 
find  out  more  about  them  than  I  can  tell  you.  But 
"  Martin  Chuzzlewit  "  was  not  written  when  Miss 
Nightingale  determined  to  find  out  the  condition 
of  nursing  in  England  and  on  the  Continent.     She 


36  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

first  spent  some  months  in  the  London  hospitals, 
and  then  visited  those  in  Scotland  and  Ireland.  She 
was  horrified  at  what  she  found  there;  dirt  and 
misery  and  needless  suffering  among  the  patients, 
drunkenness  and  ignorance  and  brutality  among 
the  nurses.  Then  she  turned  to  the  Continent  and 
found  a  very  different  state  of  things.  The  hos- 
pitals were  clean  and  cheerful,  and  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy  in  their  white  caps  and  aprons  were  as  good 
and  kind  and  capable  as  our  trained  nurses  to-day. 

Up  to  this  time  these  good  sisters  had  been  the 
only  trained  nurses  in  Europe;  but  in  Germany 
Miss  Nightingale  found  a  Protestant  sisterhood 
which  was  working  along  the  same  lines,  and  in  a 
more  enlightened  and  modern  way;  these  were  the 
Deaconesses  of  Kaiserswerth,  the  pupils  of  Pastor 
Fliedner. 

This  good  man — one  of  the  best  men,  surely, 
that  ever  lived — ^was  the  son  of  a  Lutheran  minister. 
His  father  was  poor,  and  Theodore  had  to  work 
his  way  through  college,  but  this  he  Hid  cheerfully, 
for  he  loved  work.  He  studied  very  hard  and  also 
gave  lessons,  sawed  wood,  blacked  boots,  and  did 
other  odd  jobs.     When  his  clothes  began  to  wear 


LOOKING  OUT.  37 

out  he  sewed  up  the  holes  with  white  thread,  all 
he  had,  and  then  inked  it  over.  He  loved  chil- 
dren, and  on  the  long  tramps  he  used  to  take  in 
vacation  time  he  was  always  collecting  songs  and 
games,  and  teaching  them  to  the  children. 

When  he  was  twenty-two  years  old  Theodore 
Fliedner  became  pastor  of  a  small  Protestant  parish 
at  Kaiserswerth  on  the  Rhine.  The  people  were  so 
poor  that  they  could  do  little  either  for  their  church 
or  themselves,  so  the  young  pastor  set  out  on  foot 
to  seek  aid  from  other  Christian  people.  He  trav- 
eled in  Germany,  Holland  and  England,  and  every- 
where people  felt  his  goodness  and  gave  him  help. 
In  London  he  met  Elizabeth  Fry,  and  the  noble 
work  she  was  doing  among  the  prisoners  at  New- 
gate made  a  deep  impression  on  him.  He  deter- 
mined to  do  something  to  help  the  prisoners  in  Ger- 
many, especially  the  poor  women,  who,  after  being 
imprisoned  for  a  certain  time,  were  cast  upon  the 
world  with  no  possession  save  an  ill  name. 

In  his  little  garden  stood  an  old  summerhouse, 
partly  ruinous,  but  with  strong  walls.  With  his 
own  hands  the  good  pastor  mended  the  roof  and 
made  the  place  clean  and  habitable.     He  put  in  a 


38  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

bed,  a  table  and  a  chair,  and  then  prayed  that  God 
would  send  to  this  shelter  some  poor  soul  who 
needed  it. 

One  night  a  homeless  outcast  woman  came  to  the 
door,  and  the  pastor  and  his  wife  bade  her  welcome, 
and  took  her  to  the  clean  pleasant  room  that  was 
all  ready. 

In  this  humble  way  opened  the  now  famous  in- 
stitution of  Kaiserswerth.  Other  poor  women  soon 
found  out  the  friendly  shelter ;  in  a  short  time  a  new 
and  larger  building  was  needed,  and  more  helping 
hands  beside  those  of  the  good  pastor  and  his  de- 
voted wife.  The  good  work  grew  and  grew ;  some 
of  the  poor  women  had  children,  and  so  a  school 
was  started;  the  school  must  have  good  teachers, 
and  so  a  training  school  for  teachers  was  opened. 

But  most  of  all  Pastor  Fliedner  wished  to  help 
the  condition  of  the  sick  poor;  three  years  after  the 
first  opening  of  the  summerhouse  shelter  in  the  gar- 
den he  founded  the  Deaconess  Hospital.  We  are 
told  that  it  was  opened  **  practically  without  patients 
and  without  deaconesses."  He  obtained  the  use  of 
part  of  a  deserted  factory,  and  begged  from  his 
neighbors  old  furniture  and  broken  crockery,  which 


LOOKING   OUT.  39 

he  mended  carefully,  and  put  in  the  big  empty 
rooms.  He  had  only  six  sheets,  but  there  was  plenty 
of  water  to  wash  them,  and  when  the  first  patient, 
a  poor  suffering  servant  maid,  came  to  the  door, 
she  was  made  comfortable  in  a  spotless  bed,  in  a 
clean  though  bare  room. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  the  whole  beautiful  story, 
but  it  would  take  too  long.  By  the  end  of  the  year 
there  were  sixty  patients  in  the  hospital,  and  seven 
deaconess  nurses  to  care  for  them.  To-day  there 
is  a  deaconess  hospital  or  home  in  almost  every 
town  in  Germany,  and  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  sick  and  poor  people  bless  the  deaconesses, 
though  they  may  never  have  heard  the  name  of 
Pastor  Fliedner. 


CHAPTER   V. 

WAITING     FOR     THE     CALL, 

ISS  NIGHTINGALE  spent  two  periods 
of  training  at  Kaiserswerth.  When  she 
left  it  finally,  good  Pastor  Fliedner  laid 
his  hands  on  her  head  and  gave  her  his 
blessing  in  simple  and  earnest  words;  and  she  car- 
ried with  her  the  love  and  good  wishes  of  all  the 
pious  and  benevolent  community. 

I  wish  we  had  a  picture  of  her  in  her  deaconess 
costume.  The  blue  cotton  gown,  white  apron  and 
wide  collar,  and  white  muslin  cap  tied  under  the 
chin  with  a  large  bow,  must  have  set  off  her  pensive 
beauty  very  sweetly.  She  always  kept  a  tender  recol- 
lection of  Kaiserswerth,  and  says  in  a  letter: 
"  Never  have  I  met  with  a  higher  love  and  a  purer 
devotion  than  there." 

On  her  way  home,  Miss  Nightingale  spent  some 
time  with  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  in 
Paris.     Here  she  saw  what  was  probably  the  best 

40 


WAITING   FOR  THE   CALL.  41 

nursing  in  the  world  at  that  time;  and  she  studied 
the  methods  in  her  usual  careful  way,  not  only  in 
the  hospitals,  but  in  the  homes  of  the  poor  and  suf- 
fering, where  the  good  sisters  came  and  went  like 
ministering  angels.  She  had  still  another  oppor- 
tunity, and  this  an  unsought  one^  of  learning  what 
they  had  to  teach,  for  she  fell  ill  herself,  and  was 
tenderly  cared  for  and  restored  to  health  by  these 
Nskillful  and  devoted  women. 

Returning  to  England,  she  spent  some  time  in 
the  quiet  of  home,  and  as  her  strength  returned,  took 
up  her  old  work  of  visiting  among  the  sick  and  poor 
of  the  neighborhood.  But  this  could  not  keep  her 
long.  It  was  not  that  she  did  not  love  it,  and  did 
not  love  her  home  dearly,  but  there  were  other 
benevolent  ladies  who  could  do  this  work.  She 
realized  this,  and  realized  too,  though  perhaps  un- 
consciously, that  she  could  do  harder  work  than  this, 
and  that  there  w^as  plenty  of  hard  work  waiting  to 
be  done.  She  soon  found  it.  A  call  came  asking 
her  to  be  superintendent  of  a  Home  for  Sick  Gov- 
ernesses in  London,  and  she  accepted  it  at  once. 

Did  you  ever  think  how  hard  governesses  have 
to  work  ?    Did  you  ever  think  how  tired  they  must 


42  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE.     . 

often  be,  and  how  their  heads  must  ache — and  per- 
haps their  hearts,  too — when  they  are  trying  to  teach 
you  the  lessons  that  you — perhaps  again — are  not 
always  willing  to  learn?  Well,  try  to  remember, 
those  of  you  who  have  your  lessons  in  this  way! 
Remember  that  you  can  make  the  teaching  a  pain 
or  a  pleasure,  just  as  you  choose;  and  that,  after 
all,  the  teacher  is  trying  to  help  you,  and  to  give 
you  knowledge  that  some  day  you  would  be  very 
sorry  not  to  have. 

In  the  days  of  which  we  are  speaking,  governesses 
had  a  much  harder  time  than  nowadays,  I  think. 
For  one  thing,  there  were  not  so  many  different 
ways  in  which  women  could  earn  their  bread.  When 
a  girl  had  to  make  her  own  living  she  went  out  as 
a  governess  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  whether 
she  had  any  love  for  teaching  or  not,  simply  be- 
cause there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  So  the  teaching 
was  often  mere  drudgery,  and  often,  too,  was  not 
well  done;  and  that  meant  discontent  and  unhappi- 
ness,  and  very  likely  broken  health  to  follow. 

The  Harley  Street  Home,  as  it  was  then  called, 
was  founded  to  help  poor  gentlewomen  who  had  lost 
their  health  in  this  kind  of  life.    When  Miss  Night- 


WAITING   FOR  THE   CALL.  43 

ingale  came  to  it,  things  were  in  a  bad  condition, 
owing  to  lack  of  means  and  good  management.  The 
friends  of  the  institution  were  discouraged ;  but  dis- 
couragement, was  a  word  not  to  be  found  in  Miss 
Nightingale's  dictionary.  There  was  no  money? 
Well,  there  must  be  money!  She  went  quietly  to 
work,  interested  her  own  friends  to  subscribe,  then 
talked  with  the  discouraged  people,  restoring  their 
confidence  and  inducing  them  to  renew  their  sub- 
scriptions; and  soon,  with  no  fuss  or  flourish  of 
trumpets,  the  money  was  in  hand. 

Then  she  proceeded,  just  as  quietly,  to  reorganize 
the  whole  institution;  engaged  competent  nurses, 
arranged  the  daily  life  of  the  inmates,  planned  and 
wrote  and  worked,  every  day  and  all  day,  till  she 
had  brought  order  out  of  chaos,  and  made  the  home, 
instead  of  a  place  of  disorder  and  discontent,  one  of 
comfort,  peace,  and  cheerfulness. 

You  must  not  think  that  this  was  light  or  pleasant 
work.  Sick  and  nervous  and  broken-down  women 
are  not  easy  to  deal  with;  a  hospital  (for  this  is 
what  the  home  really  was)  is  not  an  easy  thing  to 
organize  and  superintend.  It  meant,  as  I  have  said, 
hard  and  vexatious  work  every  day  and  all  day ;  and 


44  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

I  dare  say  that  often  and  often,  when  night  came, 
Florence  Nightingale  lay  down  to  rest  more  weary 
than  any  of  her  patients. 

At  length  her  health  gave  way  under  the  strain; 
she  broke  down,  and  was  forced  to  give  up  the  work 
and  go  home  to  Embley  for  a  long  rest. 

It  was  here,  in  her  own  home,  amid  her  own 
beautiful  fields  and  gardens,  that  the  call  came  which 
summoned  her  to  the  great  work  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE     TRUMPET     CALL. 

Willie,  fold  your  little  hands;* 
Let  it  drop — that  "soldier"  toy; 

Look  where  father's  picture  stands- 
Father,  that  here  kissed  his  boy 

Not  a  month  since — father  kind, 

Who  this  night  may — (never  mind 

Mother's  sob,  my  Willie  dear) 

Cry  out  loud  that  He  may  hear 

Who  is  God  of  battles — cry, 

*'God  keep  father  safe  this  day 
By  the  Alma  River!" 

Ask  no  more,  child.    Never  heed 
Either  Russ,  or  Frank,  or  Turk; 

Right  of  nations,  trampled  creed, 
Chance-poised  victory's  bloody  work; 

Any  flag  i'  the  wind  may  roll 

On  thy  heights,  Sevastopol! 

Willie,  all  to  you  and  me 

Is  that  spot,  whate'er  it  be. 

Where  he  stands — no  other  word — 

Stands — God  sure  the  child's  prayers  heard — 
Near  the  Alma  River. 

By  the  Alma  River,"  by  Dinah  Maria  Mulock  Craik. 
4S 


46  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Willie,  listen  to  the  bells 

Ringing  in  the  town  to-day; 
That's  for  victory.    No  knell  swells 

For  the  many  swept  away — 
Hundreds,  thousands.    Let  us  weep, 
We,  who  need  not — just  to  keep 
Reason  clear  in  thought  and  brain 
Till  the  morning  comes  again; 
Till  the  third  dread  morning  tell 
Who  they  were  that  fought  ajid— fell 
By  the  Alma  River. 

Come,  we'll  lay  us  down,  my  child; 

Poor  the  bed  is — poor  and  hard; 
But  thy  father,  far  exiled. 

Sleeps  upon  the  open  sward. 
Dreaming  of  us  two  at  home; 
Or,  beneath  the  starry  dome. 
Digs  out  trenches  in  the  dark. 
Where  he  buries — Willie,  mark! 
Where  he  buries  those  who  died 
Fighting — fighting  at  his  side — 

By  the  Alma  River. 

Willie,  Willie,  go  to  sleep; 

God  will  help  us,  O  my  boy! 
He  will  make  the  dull  hours  creep 

Faster,  and  send  news  of  joy; 
When  I  need  not  shrink  to  meet 
Those  great  placards  in  the  street, 


THE  TRUMPET   CALL.  47 

That  for  weeks  will  ghastly  stare 
In  some  eyes — child,  say  that  prayer 
Once  again — a  different  one — 
Say  "O  God!  Thy  wiU  be  done, 
By  the  Alma  River." 


PEN  your  atlas  at  the  map  of  Russia. 
Look  down  toward  the  bottom,  at  that 
part  of  the  great  empire  which  borders 
on  the  Euxine  or  Black  Sea;  there  you 
will  find  a  small  peninsula — it  is  really  almost  an 
island,  being  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  water- — 
labeled  "  Crimea."  It  is  only  a  part  of  one  of  the 
smallest  of  Russia's  forty-odd  provinces,  the  prov- 
ince of  Taurida;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  famous  places 
of  history,  for  here,  in  the  years  1854  and  1855,  was 
fought  the  Crimean  War,  one  of  the  greatest  wars 
of  modem  times. 

Russia  and  Turkey  have  never  been  good  neigh- 
bors. They  have  always  been  jealous  of  each  other, 
always  quarreling  about  this  or  that,  the  fact  being 
that  each  is  afraid  of  the  other's  getting  too  much 
land  and  too  much  power.  In  these  disputes  the 
pther  countries  of  Europe  have  generally  sympa- 


48  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

thized  with  Turkey,  feeling  that  Russia  had  quite 
enough  power,  and  that  if  she  had  more  it  might  be 
dangerous  for  all  of  them.  Some  day  you  will  read 
in  history  about  the  Eastern  Question  and  the  Bal- 
ance of  Power,  and  will  find  out  just  what  these 
meant  in  the  Fifties;  but  this  is  all  that  you  need 
know  now,  in  order  to  understand  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you. 

In  1854  Turkey,  feeling  that  Russia  was  pressing 
too  hard  upon  her,  called  upon  the  other  European 
powers  to  help  her.  The  result  was  that  England, 
France,  Sardinia  (now  a  part  of  Italy,  but  then  a 
separate  kingdom),  and  Turkey  made  an  agreement 
with  one  another,  and  all  together  declared  war  upon 
Russia. 

England  had  been  at  peace  with  all  the  world  for 
forty  years,  ever  since  the  wars  of  Napoleon,  which 
were  closed  by  the  great  victory  of  Waterloo.  The 
English  are  a  brave  race;  they  had  forgotten  the 
horrors  of  war,  and  remembered  only  its  glories 
and  its  victories;  and  they  sprang  to  arms  as  joy- 
ously as  boys  run  to  a  football  game.  "  Sharpen 
your  cutlasses,  and  the  day  is  ours ! "  said  Sir 
Charles  Napier  to  his  men,  just  before  the  British 


THE   TRUMPET   CALL.  49 

fleet  sailed ;  and  this  was  the  feehng  all  through  the 
country. 

The  fleets  of  the  allied  powers  gathered  in  the 
Black  Sea,  forming  one  great  armada;  surrounded 
the  peninsula  of  the  Crimea,  and  landed  their  armies. 
In  September,  1854,  was  fought  the  first  great  battle, 
by  the  Alma  River.  The  allies  were  victorious,  and 
a  great  shout  of  joy  went  up  all  over  England. 
"  Victory !  victory !  "  cried  old  and  young.  There 
were  bells  and  bonfires  and  illuminations ;  the  whole 
country  went  mad  with  joy,  and  for  a  short  time 
no  one  thought  of  anything  except  glory,  waving 
banners  and  sounding  trumpets.  But  banners  and 
trumpets,  though  a  real  part  of  war,  are  only  a  very 
small  part.  After  a  little  time,  through  the  shout- 
ing and  rejoicing  a  different  sound  was  heard;  the 
sound  of  weeping  and  lamentation,  not  only  for 
the  hundreds  of  brave  men  who  were  lying  dead 
beside  the  fatal  river,  but  for  the  other  hundreds 
of  sick  and  wounded  soldiers,  dying  for  want  of 
care. 

There  had  been  gross  neglect  and  terrible  mis- 
management in  the  carrying  on  of  the  war.  Nobody 
knew  just  whose  fault  it  was,  but  everything  seemed 


50  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

to  be  lacking  that  was  most  needed  on  that  desolate 
shore  of  the  Crimea.  The  English  troops  were  in 
an  enemy's  country,  and  a  poor  country  at  that; 
whatever  supplies  there  were  had  been  taken  by  the 
Russian  armies  for  their  own  needs.  Food  and 
clothing  had  been  sent  out  from  England  in 
great  quantities,  but  somehow,  no  one  could  find 
them.  Some  supplies  had  been  stowed  in  the  hold 
of  vessels,  and  other  things  piled  on  top  so  that 
they  could  not  be  got  at;  some  were  stored  in 
warehouses  which  no  one  had  authority  to  open; 
some  were  actually  rotting  at  the  wharves,  for 
want  of  precise  orders  as  to  their  disposal.  The 
surgeons  had  no  bandages,  the  doctors  no  medi- 
cines; it  was  a  state  of  things  that  to-day  we  can 
hardly  imagine.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  need 
were  so  great  and  terrible  that  it  paralyzed  those 
who  saw  it. 

It  is  now  pouring  rain,''  wrote  William  Howard 
Russell  to  the  London  Times j  "  the  skies  are  black 
as  ink,  the  wind  is  howling  over  the  staggering 
tents,  the  trenches  are  turned  into  dykes;  in  the 
tents  the  water  is  sometimes  a  foot  deep;  our  men 
have  not  either  warm  or  waterproof  clothing;  they 


THE   TRUMPET   CALL.  51 

are  out  for  twelve  hours  at  a  time  in  the  trenches ; 
they  are  plunged  into  the  inevitable  miseries  of  a 
winter  campaign — and  not  a  soul  seems  to  care 
for  their  comfort,  or  even  for  their  lives.  These 
are  hard  truths,  but  the  people  of  England  must 
hear  them.  They  must  know  that  the  wretched  beg- 
gar who  wanders  about  tlie  streets  of  London  in  the 
rain,  leads  the  life  of  a  prince  compared  with  the 
British  soldiers  who  are  fighting  out  here  for  their 
country. 


"  The  commonest  accessories  of  a  hospital  are 
wanting;  there  is  not  the  least  attention  paid  to  de- 
cency or  clean  linen;  the  stench  is  appalling;  the 
fetid  air  can  hardly  struggle  out  to  taint  the  atmos- 
phere, save  through  the  chinks  in  the  walls  and 
roofs;  and  for  all  I  can  observe,  these  men  die 
without  the  least  effort  being  made  to  save  them. 
There  they  lie,  just  as  they  were  let  gently  down 
on  the  ground  by  the  poor  fellows,  their  com- 
rades, who  brought  them  on  their  backs  from  the 
tamp  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  but  who  are 
not  allowed  to  remain  with  them.     The  sick  ap- 


52  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

pear  to  be  tended  by  the  sick,  and  the  dying  by  the 
dying." 

He  added  that  the  snow  was  three  feet  deep  on  a 
level,  and  the  cold  so  intense  that  many  soldiers 
were  frozen  in  their  tents. 

No  one  meant  to  be  cruel  or  neglectful ;  but  there 
were  not  half  enough  doctors,  and — think  of  it, 
children !  there  were  no  nurses. 

How  did  this  happen?  Well,  when  the  war  broke 
out  the  military  authorities  did  not  want  female 
nurses.  The  matter  was  talked  over,  and  it  was  de- 
cided that  things  would  go  better  without  them. 
This  was  put  on  the  ground  that  the  class  of  nurses, 
as  I  have  told  you,  was  at  that  time  in  England  a 
very  poor  one.  They  were  often  drunken,  generally 
unfeeling,  and  always  ignorant.  The  War  Depart- 
ment decided  that  this  kind  of  nurse  would  do  more 
harm  than  good;  they  did  not  realize  that  '*  The 
old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new,"  and  that 
the  time  was  come  when  the  new  nurse  must  replace 
the  old. 

But  now  the  need  was  come,  immediate  and  ter- 
rible, and  there  was  no  one  to  meet  it.  When  the 
people  of  England  realized  this;  when  they  learned 


THE  TRUMPET   CALL.  53 

that  the  hospital  at  Scutari  was  filled  with  sick  and 
wounded  and  dying  men,  and  no  one  to  care  for 
them  save  a  few  male  orderlies,  wholly  untrained 
for  the  task;  when  they  heard  that  in  the  hospitals 
of  the  French  army  the  Sisters  of  Mercy  were  doing 
their  blessed  work,  tending  the  wounded,  healing 
the  sick  and  comforting  the  dying,  and  realized 
that  the  English  soldiers,  their  own  sons,  brothers 
and  husbands,  had  no  such  help  and  no  such  com- 
fort, the  sound  of  bell  and  trumpet  was  lost  in  a 
great  cry  of  anger  and  sorrow  that  went  up  from 
the  whole  country. 

And  matters  grew  worse  and  worse,  as  one  great 
battle  after  another  sent  its  dreadful  fruits  to  the 
already  overflowing  hospital  at  Scutari.  On  October 
25th  came  Balaklava;  on  November  5th,  Inker- 
man. 

You  have  all  read  "  The  Charge  of  the  Light 
Brigade  " ;  yet  I  ask  you  to  read  it  again  here,  so 
that  it  may  fit  into  its  place  in  the  story  of  this  ter- 
rible war.  Remember,  it  is  only  one  incident  of 
that  great  battle  of  Balaklava,  in  which  both  sides 
claimed  the  victory,  while  neither  gained  any  signal 
advantage. 


54  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league,* 
Half  a  league  onward. 

All  in  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 

Charge  for  the  guns!"  he  said; 

Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade!" 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not  though  the  solider  knew 

Someone  had  blundered; 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die: 
Into  the  vaUey  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  himdred. 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well; 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
■I 
*  '*  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  by  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


THE   TRUMPET   CALL.  55 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air. 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered; 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke, 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke, 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre-stroke, 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not — 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered: 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell. 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell — 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  himdred! 


5$  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  William  Howard  Rus- 
sell. He  was  the  war  correspondent  of  the  Times, 
the  great  English  newspaper,  and  a  man  of  intel- 
ligence, heart  and  feeling.  He  was  on  the  spot, 
and  saw  the  horrors  of  the  war  at  first-hand. 
His  heart  was  filled  with  sorrow  and  pity  for  the 
suffering  around  him,  and  with  indignation  that 
so  little  was  done  to  relieve  it;  and  he  wrote  day 
after  day  home  to  England,  telling  what  he  saw 
and  what  was  needed.  Soon  after  Bakklava  he 
wrote : 

"  Are  there  no  devoted  women  amongst  us,  able 
and  willing  to  go  forth  to  minister  to  the  sick  and 
suffering  soldiers  of  the  East  in  the  hospitals  at 
Scutari  ?  Are  there  none  of  the  daughters  of  Eng- 
land, at  this  extreme  hour  of  need,  ready  for  such 
a  work  of  mercy  ?  France  has  sent  forth  her  Sisters 
of  Mercy  unsparingly,  and  they  are  even  now  by 
the  bedsides  of  the  wounded  and  the  dying,  giving 
what  woman's  hand  alone  can  give  of  comfort  and 
relief.  Must  we  fall  so  far  below  the  French  in 
self-sacrifice  and  devotedness,  in  a  work  which 
Christ  so  signally  blesses  as  done  unto  Himself? 
*  I  was  sick  and  ye  visited  me.'  " 


THE  TRUMPET   CALL.  57 

This  was  the  trumpet  call  that  rang  in  the  ears 
of  the  women  of  England,  sounding  a  clearer  note 
than  all  the  clarions  of  victory.  We  shall  see  how 
it  was  answered. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE     RESPONSE. 

R.  SIDNEY  HERBERT  (afterwards 
Lord  Herbert  of  Lea)  was  at  this  time 
at  the  head  of  the  War  Department  in 
England.  He  was  a  man  of  noble  nature 
and  tender  heart,  whose  whole  life  was  spent  in 
doing  good,  and  in  helping  those  who  needed  help. 
He  heard  with  deep  distress  the  dreadful  tidings  of 
suffering  that  came  from  the  Crimea,  and  his  heart 
responded  instantly  to  the  call  for  help.  Yes,  the 
women  of  England  must  rise  up  and  go  to  that  far, 
desolate  land  to  tend  and  nurse  the  sick  and  wounded 
and  dying;  but  who  should  lead  them?  What  one 
woman  had  the  strength,  the  power,  the  wisdom, 
the  tenderness,  to  meet  and  overcome  the  terrible 
conditions  ?  Asking  himself  this  question,  Mr.  Her- 
bert answered  without  a  moment's  hesitation :  '^  Flor- 
ence Nightingale !  " 

He  knew  Miss  Nightingale  well;  she  was  a  dear 
58 


THE   RESPONSE.  59 

friend  of  himself  and  his  beautiful  wife,  and  had 
again  and  again  given  them  help  and  counsel  in  plan- 
ning and  managing  their  many  charities,  hospitals, 
homes  for  sick  children,  and  so  forth.  He  knew  that 
she  possessed  all  the  qualities  needed  for  this  work, 
and  he  wrote  to  her,  asking  if  she  would  undertake 
it.  Would  she,  he  asked,  go  out  to  Scutari,  taking 
with  her  a  band  of  nurses  who  would  be  under  her 
orders,  and  take  charge  of  the  hospital  nursing? 

He  did  not  make  light  of  the  task. 

"  The  selection  of  the  rank  and  file  of  nurses 
would  be  difficult — no  one  knows  that  better  than 
yourself.  The  difficulty  of  finding  women  equal  to 
a  task  after  all  full  of  horror,  and  requiring,  besides 
intelligence  and  goodwill,  great  knowledge  and 
great  courage  will  be  great ;  the  task  of  ruling  them 
and  introducing  system  among  them  great,  and  not 
the  least  will  be  the  difficulty  of  making  the  whole 
work  smoothly  with  the  medical  and  military  au- 
thorities out  there.  This  it  is  which  makes  it  so 
important  that  the  experiment  should  be  carried  out 
\by  one  with  administrative  capacity  and  experience." 

He  went  on  to  assure  Miss  Nightingale  that  she 
should  have  full  power  and  authority,  and  told  her 


6o  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

frankly  that  in  his  opinion  she  was  the  one  woman 
in  England  who  was  capable  of  performing  this 
great  task. 

"  I  must  not  conceal  from  you  that  upon  your 
decision  will  depend  the  ultimate  success  or  failure 
of  the  plan.  ...  If  this  succeeds,  an  enormous 
amount  of  good  will  be  done  now,  and  to  persons 
deserving  everything  at  our  hands;  and  which  will 
multiply  the  good  to  all  time." 

It  was  a  noble  letter,  this  of  Mr.  Herbert's,  but 
he  might  have  spared  himself  the  trouble  of  writing 
it.  Florence  Nightingale,  in  her  quiet  country  home, 
had  heard  the  call  to  the  women  of  England;  and 
even  while  Mr.  Herbert  was  composing  his  letter  to 
her,  she  was  writing  to  him,  a  brief  note,  simply 
offering  her  services  in  the  hospitals  at  Scutari.  Her 
letter  crossed  his  on  the  way;  and  the  next  day  it 
was  proclaimed  from  the  War  Office  that  Miss 
Nightingale,  "  a  lady  with  greater  practical  experi- 
ence of  hospital  administration  and  treatment  than 
any  other  lady  in  the  countr}%"  had  been  appointed 
by  Government  to  the  office  of  Superintendent  of 
Nurses  at  Scutari,  and  had  undertaken  the  work 
of  organizing  and  taking  out  nurses  thither. 


THE   RESPONSE.  6l 

Great  was  the  amazement  in  England.  Nothing 
of  this  kind  had  ever  been  heard  of  before.  "  Who 
is  Miss  Nightingale  ? "  people  cried  all  over  the 
country.  They  were  answered  by  the  newspapers. 
First  the  Examiner  and  then  the  Times  told  them 
that  Miss  Nightingale  was  "  a  young  lady  of  singu- 
lar endowments  both  natural  and  acquired.  In  a 
knowledge  of  the  ancient  languages  and  of  the 
higher  branches  of  mathematics,  in  general  art, 
science,  and  literature,  her  attainments  are  extraor- 
dinary. There  is  scarcely  a  modem  language 
which  she  does  not  understand,  and  she  speaks 
French,  German  and  Italian  as  fluently  as  her  na- 
tive English.  She  has  visited  and  studied  all  the 
various  nations  of  Europe,  and  has  ascended  the 
Nile  to  its  remotest  cataract.  Young  (about  the 
age  of  our  Queen),  graceful,  feminine,  rich,  popu- 
lar, she  holds  a  singularly  gentle  and  persuasive  in- 
fluence over  all  with  whom  she  comes  in  contact. 
Her  friends  and  acquaintances  are  of  all  classes  and 
persuasions,  but  her  happiest  place  is  at  home,  in 
the  centre  of  a  very  large  band  of  accomplished  rela- 
tives,, and  in  simplest  obedience  to  her  admiring 
parents." 


62  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

One  who  knew  our  heroine  well  wrote  in  a  more 
personal  vein : 

"  Miss  Nightingale  is  one  of  those  whom  God 
forms  for  great  ends.  You  cannot  hear  her  say  a 
few  sentences — no,  not  even  look  at  her,  without 
feeling  that  she  is  an  extraordinary  being.  Simple, 
intellectual,  sweet,  full  of  love  and  benevolence,  she 
is  a  fascinating  and  perfect  woman.  She  is  tall  and 
pale.  Her  face  is  exceedingly  lovely;  but  better 
than  all  is  the  soul's  glory  that  shines  through  every 
feature  so  exultingly.  Nothing  can  be  sweeter  than 
her  smile.     It  is  like  a  sunny  day  in  summer." 

Though  well  known  among  a  large  circle  of  earn- 
est and  high-minded  persons,  Miss  Nightingale's 
name  was  entirely  new  to  the  English  people  as  a 
whole,  and — everything  else  apart — they  were  de- 
lighted with  its  beauty.  Had  she  been  plain  Mary 
Smith,  she  would  have  done  just  as  good  work,  but 
it  would  have  been  far  harder  for  her  to  start  it. 
Florence  Nightingale  was  a  name  to  conjure  with, 
as  the  saying  is,  and  it  echoed  far  and  wide.  Every- 
body who  could  write  verses  (and  many  who  could 
not),  began  instantly  to  write  about  nightingales. 
Punch  printed  a  cartoon  showing  a  hospital  ward. 


THE   RESPONSE.  63 

with  the  **  ladybirds  "  hovering  about  the  cots  of 
the  sick  men,  each  bird  having  a  nurse's  head.  An- 
other picture  represented  one  of  the  bird-nurses  fly- 
ing through  the  air,  carrying  in  her  claws  a  jug 
labeled  "  Fomentation,  Embrocation,  Gruel."  This 
was  called  "  The  Jug  of  the  Nightingale,"  for  many 
people  think  that  some  of  the  bird's  beautiful,  liquid 
notes  sound  like  "  jug,  jug,  jug!  " 

Not  content  with  pictures,  Punch  printed  "  The 
Nightingale's  Song  to  the  Sick  Soldier,"  which  be- 
came very  popular,  and  was  constantly  quoted  in 
those  days. 

Listen,  soldier,  to  the  tale  of  the  tender  nightingale, 
'Tis  a  charm  that  sooi  will  ease  your  wounds  so  cruel, 

Singing  medicine  for  your  pain,  in  a  sympathetic  strain, 
With  a  jug,  jug,  jug  of  lemonade  or  gruel. 

Singing  bandages  and  lint;  salve  and  cerate  without  stint. 
Singing  plenty  both  of  liniment  arid  lotion, 

And  your  mixtures  pushed  about,  and  the  pills  for  you  served 
out 
With  alacrity  and  promptitude  of  motion. 

Singing  light  and  gentle  hands,  and  a  nurse  who  understands 

How  to  manage  every  sort  of  application. 
From  a  poultice  to  a  leech;  whom  you  haven't  got  to  teach 

The  way  to  make  a  poppy  fomentation. 


64  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Singing  pillow  for  you,  smoothed;  smart  and  ache  and 
anguish  soothed, 
By  the  readiness  of  feminine  invention; 
Singing  fever's  thirst  allayed,  and  the  bed  youVe  tumbled 
made 
With  a  cheerful  and  considerate  attention. 

Singing  succour  to  the  brave,  and  a  rescue  from  the  grave, 
Hear  the  nightingale  that*s  come  to  the  Crimea; 

*Tis  a  nightingale  as  strong  in  her  heart  as  in  her  song, 
To  carry  out  so  gallant  an  idea. 


Of  course  there  were  some  people  who  shook 
their  heads;  there  always  are  when  any  new  work 
is  undertaken.  Some  thought  it  was  improper  for 
women  to  nurse  in  a  military  hospital;  others 
thought  they  would  be  useless,  or  worse;  others 
again  thought  that  the  nurses  would  ruin  their  own 
health  and  be  sent  home  in  a  month  to  the  hospitals 
of  England.  There  were  still  other  objections, 
which  were  strongly  felt  in  those  days,  however 
strange  they  may  soimd  in  our  ears  to-day. 

"  Oh,  dreadful !  "  said  some  people ;  "  Miss  Night- 
ingale is  a  Unitarian !  " 

"  Oh,  shocking !  "  said  others.  "  Miss  Night- 
ingale is  a  Roman  Catholic ! "    And  so  it  went  on. 


THE   RESPONSE.  65 

But  while  they  were  talking  and  exclaiming,  draw- 
ing pictures  and  singing  songs,  Miss  Nightingale 
was  getting  ready.  In  six  days  from  the  time  she 
undertook  the  work  she  was  ready  to  start,  witH 
thirty  nurses,  chosen  with  infinite  care  and  pains 
from  the  hundreds  who  had  volunteered  to  go. 
There  was  no  flourish  of  trumpets.  While  England 
was  still  wondering  how  they  could  go,  and  whether 
they  ought  to  be  allowed  to  go — behold,  they  were 
gone !  slipping  away  by  night,  as  if  they  were  bound 
on  some  secret  errand.  Indeed,  Miss  Nightingale 
has  never  been  able  to  endure  "  fuss  and  feathers," 
and  all  her  life  she  has  looked  for  a  bushel  large 
enough  to  hide  her  light  under,  though  happily  she 
has  never  succeeded. 

Only  a  few  relatives  and  near  friends  stood  on  the 
railway  platform  on  that  evening  of  October  21, 
1854.  Miss  Nightingale,  simply  dressed  in  black, 
was  very  quiet,  very  serene,  with  a  cheerful  word 
for  everyone;  no  one  who  saw  her  parting  look 
and  smile  ever  forgot  them.  So,  in  night  and  si- 
lence, the  "  Angel  Band  '^  whose  glory  was  soon 
to  shine  over  all  the  world,  left  the  shores  of 
England. 


66  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

But  though  England  slept  that  night,  France  was 
wide  awake  the  next  morning.  The  fishwives  of 
Boulogne  had  heard  what  was  doing  across  the 
Channel,  and  were  on  the  lookout.  When  Miss 
Nightingale  and  her  nurses  stepped  ashore  they  were 
met  by  a  band  of  women,  in  snowy  caps  and  rain- 
bow-striped petticoats,  all  with  outstretched  hands, 
all  crying,  "  Welcojne,  welcome,  our  English 
sisters !  " 

They  knew,  Marie  and  Jeanne  and  Suzette.  Their 
own  husbands,  sons,  and  brothers  were  fighting  and 
dying  in  the  Crimea;  their  own  nurses,  the  blessed 
Sisters  of  Mercy,  had  from  the  first  been  toiling  in 
hospital  and  trench  in  that  dreadful  land;  how 
should  they  not  welcome  the  English  sisters  who 
were  going  to  join  in  the  holy  work? 

Loudly  they  proclaimed  that  none  but  themselves, 
the  fishwives  of  Boulogne,  should  help  the  scFurs 
■Anglaises.  They  shouldered  bag  and  baggage; 
they  swung  the  heavy  trunks  up  on  their  broad 
backs,  and  with  laughter  and  tears  mingled  in  true 
French  fashion,  trudged  away  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion. Pay  ?  Not  a  sou ;  not  a  centime !  The  bless- 
ing of  our  English  sisters  is  all  we  desire;  and  if 


THE  RESPONSE.  67 

they  should  chance  to  see  Pierre  or  Jacques  Id-bas — 
ah!  the  heavens  are  over  all.  A  handshake,  then, 
and  Adieu!  Adieu!  vivent  les  sceurs!  the  good  God 
go  with  you ! 

And  that  prayer  was  surely  answered. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SCUTARI. 

PEN  the  atlas  once  more  at  the  map  of 
Russia,  and  look  downward  from  the 
Crimea,  across  the  Black  Sea  toward  the 
southwest.  You  see  a  narrow  strait 
marked  "  Bosporus ''  leading  from  the  Black  Sea  to 
the  Sea  of  Marmora ;  and  on  either  side  of  the  strait 
a  black  dot,  one  marked  "  Constantinople,"  the  other 
"  Scutari."  It  is  to  Scutari  that  we  are  going,  but 
we  must  not  pass  the  other  places  without  a  word, 
for  they  are  very  famous.  This  is  the  land  of  story, 
and  every  foot  of  ground,  every  trickle  of  water, 
has  its  legend  or  fairy  tale,  or  true  story  of  sorrow 
or  heroism. 

Bosporus  means  "  the  cow's  ford."  It  was 
named,  the  old  story  says,  for  lo,  a  beautiful  maiden 
beloved  of  Zeus.  To  conceal  her  from  the  eyes  of 
Hera,  his  jealous  wife,  Zeus  turned  lo  into  a  snow- 
-white heifer;  but  Hera,  suspecting  the  truth,  per- 
suaded him  to  give  the  poor  pretty  creature  to  her. 

68 


SCUTARI.  69 

Then  followed  a  sad  time.  Hera  set  Argus,  a  giant 
with  a  hundred  eyes,  to  watch  the  heifer,  lest  she 
escape  and  regain  her  human  form.  The  poor 
heifer-maiden  was  so  unhappy  that  Zeus  sent 
Hermes  to  set  her  free;  and  the  cunning  god  told 
stories  to  Argus  till  he  fell  asleep,  and  then  cut  off 
his  head,  hundred  eyes  and  all.  Hera  took  the  eyes 
and  put  them  in  the  tail  of  her  sacred  peacock,  and 
there  they  are  to  this  day.  Meantime  lo  ran  away 
as  fast  as  she  could,  but  she  could  not  escape  the 
vengeance  of  the  jealous  goddess.  Hera  sent  a  gad- 
fly after  her,  which  stung  her  cruelly,  and  pursued 
her  over  land  and  sea.  The  poor  creature  fled  wildly 
hither  and  thither;  swam  across  the  Ionian  Sea, 
which  has  borne  her  name  ever  since ;  roamed  over 
the  whole  breadth  of  what  is  now  Turkey,  and  final- 
ly came  to  the  narrow  strait  or  ford  between  the 
two  seas.  Here  she  crossed  again,  and  went  on  her 
weary  way;  and  here  again  she  left — not  her  own 
name,  but  that  of  the  animal  in  whose  form  she 
suffered.  Poor  lo !  one  is  glad  to  read  that  she  was 
released  at  last^  and  given  her  woman's  body  again. 
True?  No,  the  story  is  not  true,  but  it  is  very 
famous.    Those  of  you  who  care  about  moths  will 


70  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

find  another  reminder  of  lo  in  the  beautiful  Satur- 
nia  lo,  which  is  named  for  the  Greek  maiden  and 
her  cruel  foe,  Saturnia  being  another  name  for  Hera 
or  Juno. 

The  scenery  along  the  banks  of  the  Bosporus  is 
so  beautiful  that  whole  books  have  been  written 
about  it.  On  either  side  are  seven  promontories  and 
seven  bays;  indeed,  it  is  almost  a  chain  of  seven 
lakes,  connected  by  seven  swift-rushing  currents. 
The  promontories  are  crowned  with  villages,  towns, 
palaces,  ruins,  each  with  its  own  beauty,  its  own  in- 
terest, its  own  story;  but  we  cannot  stay  for  these; 
we  must  go  onward  to  where,  at  the  lovver  end  of 
the  passage,  with  its  long,  narrow  harbor,  the  Golden 
Horn,  curling  round  it,  lies  Constantinople,  the 
wonder-city. 

Here  indeed  we  must  stop  for  a  moment,  for  this 
is  one  of  the  most  famous  cities  of  history.  In 
ancient  days,  when  Rome  was  in  her  glory  and  long 
before,  it  was  Byzantium  that  lay  shining  in  the 
curve  of  the  Golden  Horn ;  Byzantium  the  rich,  the 
powerful,  the  desired  of  all;  fought  over  through 
successive  generations  by  Persian,  Greek,  Gaul  and 
Roman;  conquered,  liberated,  conquered  again.    In 


SCUTARI.  71 

the  second  century  of  our  era  it  was  besieged  by 
the  Roman  emperor  Severus,  and  after  a  heroic  re- 
sistance lasting  three  years,  was  taken  and  laid  waste 
by  the  conqueror.  But  the  city  sprang  up  again, 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  a  century  and  a  half 
later  the  emperor  Constantine  made  it  the  capital  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  and  gave  it  his  own  name. 

Constantinopolis,  the  City  of  Constantine;  so  it 
became  in  the  year  330,  and  so  it  remains  to  this 
day,  but  not  under  the  rule  of  Romans  or  their  de- 
scendants. 

*'  Blessed  shall  he  be  who  shall  take  Constanti- 
nople ! "  So,  three  hundred  years  later,  exclaimed 
Mohammed,  the  prophet  and  leader  of  men.  His 
disciples  and  followers  never  forgot  the  saying,  and 
many  wars  were  fought,  many  desperate  attempts 
made  by  the  Mohammedans  to  win  the  wonder 
city.  It  was  another  Mohammed,  not  a  prophet  but 
a  great  soldier,  surnamed  the  Conqueror,  who  finally 
conquered  it,  in  1453,  after  another  tremendous 
siege,  of  which  you  will  read  in  history.  There  is 
a  terrible  story  about  the  entry  of  this  savage  con- 
queror into  the  city.  It  is  said  that  its  inhabitants, 
mostly  Christians,  though  of  various  nationalities^ 


72  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

took  refuge  in  the  great  church  of  St.  Sophia, 
and  were  there  barbarously  slaughtered  by  the  fero- 
cious Turks.  In  the  south  aisle  of  the  church  the 
dead  lay  piled  in  great  heaps,  and  in  over  this  dread- 
ful rampart  rode  Mohammed  on  his  war  horse ;  and 
as  he  rode,  he  lifted  his  bloody  right  hand  and  smote 
one  of  the  pillars,  and  there — so  the  story  says — 
the  mark  may  be  seen  to  this  day. 

From  that  time  to  our  own  Constantinople  has 
been  the  capital  city  of  the  Turkish  Empire.  Again, 
I  wish  I  might  tell  you  about  at  least  a  few  of  its 
many  wonders,  for  I  have  seen  some  of  them,  but 
^gain  I  must  hasten  on. 

The  city  is  so  great  that  it  overflows  in  every 
direction ;  in  fact,  there  are  three  cities  in  one :  Stam- 
boul,  the  central  division,  filling  the  tongue  of  land 
between  the  Golden  Horn  and  the  Sea  of  Marmora ; 
Galata,  on  the  farther  bank  of  the  Horn;  and  Scu- 
tari, on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  Bosporus.  It 
is  to  the  last-named  that  we  are  going. 

Although  actually  a  suburb  of  Constantinople, 
Scutari  is  a  town  in  itself,  and  a  large  and  an- 
cient one.  In  the  eariiest  times  of  the  great 
Persian  monarchy,  it  was  called  Chrysopolis,  the 


SCUTARI.  73 

Golden  City.  Its  present  name  means  in  Persian  a 
courier  who  carries  royal  orders  from  station  to 
station;  that  is  because  the  place  has  always,  from 
its  earliest  days,  been  a  rendezvous  for  caravans, 
messengers,  travelers  of  every  description.  Here 
Xenophon  and  his  Greeks,  returning  from  the  war 
against  Cyrus,  halted  for  seven  days  while  the  sol- 
diers disposed  of  the  booty  they  had  won  in  the 
campaign.  Here,  for  hundreds  of  years,  stood  the 
three  colossal  statues,  forty-eight  feet  high,  erected 
by  the  Byzantians  in  honor  of  the  Athenians,  who 
had  saved  them  from  destruction  at  the  hands  of 
Philip  the  Lacedaemonian.  Here,  to-day,  are 
mosques  and  convents,  palaces  and  tombs,  especially 
the  last ;  for  the  burying  ground  of  Scutari  is  one  of 
the  largest  in  the  world^  and  its  silent  avenues  hold, 
some  say,  twenty  times  as  many  dwellers  as  the  gay 
N^  and  noisy  streets  of  Stamboul. 

It  is  a  strange  place,  this  great  burying  ground. 
Beside  each  tomb  rises  a  cypress  tree,  tall  and  majes- 
tic. The  tombs  themselves  are  mostly  pillars  of 
marble,  with  a  globe  or  ball  on  the  top ;  and  perched 
atop  of  this  globe  is  in  many  cases  a  turban  or  a  fez, 
carved  in  stone  and  painted  in  gay  colors.     This 


74  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

shows  that  a  man  lies  beneath ;  the  women's  tombs 
are  marked  by  a  grapevine  or  a  stem  of  lotus, 
also  carved  in  marble.  At  foot  of  the  column  is  a 
flat  stone,  hollowed  out  in  the  middle  to  form  a 
small  basin.  Some  of  these  basins  are  filled  with 
flowers  or  perfumes;  in  others,  the  rain  and  dew 
make  a  pleasant  bathing  and  drinking  place  for  the 
birds  who  fly  in  great  flocks  about  the  quiet  place. 
Not  far  from  this  great  cemetery  is  another  place 
of  burial,  that  of  the  English ;  and  this  is  laid  out  like 
a  lovely  garden,  and  watched  and  tended  with  loving 
care;  for  here  rest  the  brave  men  who  fell  in  this 
terrible  war  of  the  Crimea,  or  who  wasted  away  in 
the  great  building  that  towers  foursquare  over  all 
the  neighborhood.  We  must  look  well  at  this  build- 
ing, the  Barrack  Hospital  of  Scutari,  for  this  is 
what  Florence  Nightingale  came  so  far  to  see. 
Through  all  the  long,  w^earisome  journey,  I  doubt 
whether  she  gave  much  heed  to  the  beauties  or  the 
discomforts  of  the  way.  Her  eyes  were  set  stead- 
fastly forward,  following  her  swift  thoughts;  and 
eyes  and  thoughts  sought  this  one  thing,  this  gaunt, 
bare  building  rising  beside  the  new-made  graves. 
Let  us  follow  her  and  see  what  she  found  there. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE     BARRACK     HOSPITAL. 

HE  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari  was  just 
what  its  name  implies.  It  was  built  for 
soldiers  to  live  in,  and  was  big  enough 
to  take  in  whole  regiments.  Surround- 
ing the  four  sides  of  a  quadrangle,  each  one  of  its 
sides  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  and  it 
was  believed  that  twelve  thousand  men  could  be 
exercised  in  the  great  central  court.  Three  sides  of 
the  building  were  arranged  in  galleries  and  corri- 
dors, rising  story  upon  story ;  we  are  told  that  these 
long  narrow  rooms,  if  placed  end  to  end,  would 
cover  four  miles  of  ground.  At  each  comer  rose 
a  tower ;  the  building  was  well  situated,  and  looked 
out  over  the  Bosporus  toward  the  glittering  mosques 
and  minarets  of  Stamboul. 

You  would  think  that  this  vast  building  would 
hold  all  the  sick  and  wounded  men  of  one  short  war ; 
but  this  was  not  so.     Seven  others  were  erected, 

75 


76  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

and  all  were  filled  to  overflowing;  but  the  Barrack 
Hospital  was  Miss  Nightingale's  headquarters,  and 
the  chief  scene  of  her  labors,  though  she  had  au- 
thority over  all ;  I  shall  therefore  describe  the  situa- 
tion and  the  work  as  she  found  it  there. 

If  there  had  been  mismanagement  at  home  in 
England,  there  had  been  even  wqrse  at  the  seat  of 
war.  The  battles,  you  remember,  were  all  fought 
in  the  Crimea.  They  were  cruel,  terrible  battles, 
too  terrible  to  dwell  upon  here.  Hundreds  and 
thousands  were  killed ;  but  other  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands lay  wounded  and  helpless  on  the  field.  In 
those  days  there  was  no  Red  Cross,  no  field  prac- 
tice, no  first  aid  to  the  injured.  The  poor  sufferers 
were  taken,  all  bleeding  and  fainting  as  they  were, 
to  the  water  side,  and  there  put  in  boats  which  car- 
ried them,  tossing  on  the  rough  waters  of  the  Black 
Sea,  across  to  Scutari.  Several  days  would  pass  be- 
fore any  were  got  from  the  battlefield  to  the  ferry 
below  the  hospital,  and  most  of  them  had  not  had 
their  wounds  dressed  or  their  broken  limbs  set. 
Often  they  had  had  no  food ;  they  were  tortured  by 
fever  and  thirst;  and  now  they  must  walk,  if  they 
«ould  drag  themselves,  or  be  dragged  or  carried  by 


THE   BARRACK   HOSPITAL.  77 

others  up  the  hill  to  the  hospital.  We  can  fancy 
how  they  looked  forward  to  rest ;  how  they  thought 
of  comfort,  aid,  relief  from  pain.  Alas !  they  found 
little  of  all  these  things. 

The  Barrack  Hospital  had  been  built  by  the  Turks, 
and  lent  to  the  English  by  the  Turkish  Government ; 
it  had  been  meant  for  the  hardy  Turkish  soldiery  to 
sleep  in,  and  there  were  no  appliances  to  fit  it  for  a 
hospital.  We  are  told  that  in  the  early  months  of 
the  war  "  there  were  no  vessels  for  water  or  utensils 
of  any  kind;  no  soap,  towels  or  cloths,  no  hospital 
clothes;  the  men  lying  in  their  uniforms,  stiff  with 
gore  and  covered  with  filth  to  a  degree  and  of  a 
kind  no  one  could  write  about;  their  persons  cov- 
ered with  vermin,  which  crawled  about  the  floors 
and  walls  of  the  dreadful  den  of  dirt,  pestilence  and 
death  to  which  they  were  consigned.'* 

Is  this  too  dreadful  to  read  about?  But  it  was 
not  too  dreadful  to  happen.  The  poor  fellows,  laid 
down  in  the  midst  of  all  this  horror,  would  wait 
with  a  soldier's  patience,  hoping  for  the  doctor  or 
surgeon  who  should  bind  up  their  wounds  and  re- 
lieve their  terrible  suffering.  Alas !  often  and  often 
death  was  more  prompt  than  the  doctor,  and  stilled 


78  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

the  pain  forever,  before  any  human  aid  had  been 
given. 

One  of  Miss  Nightingale's  assistants  writes : 
"How  can  I  ever  describe  my  first  day  in  the  hos- 
pital at  Scutari?  Vessels  were  arriving  and  order- 
lies carrying  the  poor  fellows,  who  with  their 
wounds  and  frost-bites  had  been  tossing  about  on 
the  Black  Sea  for  two  or  three  days  and  sometimes 
more.  Where  were  they  to  go  ?  Not  an  available 
bed.  They  were  laid  on  the  floor  one  after  another, 
till  the  beds  were  emptied  of  those  dying  of  cholera 
and  every  other  disease.  Many  died  immediately 
after  being  brought  in — their  moans  would  pierce 
the  heart — and  the  look  of  agony  on  those  poor 
dying  faces  will  never  leave  my  heart.  They  may 
well  be  called  *  the  martyrs  of  the  Crimea.'  " 

Where  were  the  doctors?  They  were  there,  do- 
ing their  very  best;  working  day  and  night,  giving 
their  strength  and  their  lives  freely;  but  there  were 
not  half,  not  a  tenth  part,  enough  of  them;  and 
there  was  no  one  to  help  them  but  the  orderlies, 
who,  as  I  have  said,  had  had  no  training,  and  knew 
nothing  of  sickness  or  hospital  work.  The  condi- 
tions grew  so   frightful  that  a  kind  of  paralysis 


THE    BARRACK   HOSPITAL.  79 

seaned  to  fall  upon  the  minds  of  the  workers.  They 
felt  that  the  task  was  hopeless,  and  they  went 
about  their  duties  like  people  in  a  nightmare.  The 
strangest  thing  of  all,  to  us  now,  seems  to  be  that 
they  did  not  tell.  Though  Mr.  Russell  and  others 
wrote  to  England  of  the  horrors  of  the  hospitalSj^ 
the  authorities  themselves  were  silent,  or  if  ques- 
tioned, would  only  reply  that  everything  was  **  all 
right."  There  was  no  inspection  that  was  worthy 
of  the  name.  The  same  officers  who  would  front 
death  on  the  battlefield  with  a  song  and  a  laugh, 
shrank  from  meeting  it  in  the  hospital  wards,  the 
air  of  which  was  heavy  with  the  poison  of  cholera 
and  fever. 

"  An  orderly  officer  took  the  rounds  of  the  wards 
every  night,  to  see  that  all  was  in  order.  He  was 
of  course  expected  by  the  orderlies,  and  the  moment 
he  raised  the  latch  he  received  the  word :  *  All 
right,  your  honor ! '  and  passed  on.  This  was 
hospital  inspection !  "  * 

In  fact,  these  orderlies  too  often,  I  fear,  bore 
some  resemblance  to  the  old  class  of  nurses  that 

*  Tooley,  "  Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  137. 


'8o  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

I  described,  and  were  in  many  cases  rough,  un- 
feeling, ignorant  men.  Sometimes  it  was  for  this 
reason  that  they  drank  the  brandy  which  should 
have  been  given  to  their  patients ;  but  often,  again, 
it  was  because  they  were  ill  themselves,  or  else  be- 
cause they  were  so  overcome  by  the  horrors  around 
them  that  they  drank  just  to  bring  forgetfulness  for 
a  time. 

The  strange  paralysis  of  which  I  have  spoken 
seemed  to  hang  over  everything  connected  with  the 
unfortunate  soldiers  of  the  Crimea.  Mr.  Sidney 
Herbert  assured  Miss  Nightingale  that  the  hospitals 
were  supplied  with  every  necessary.  He  had  rea- 
son to  think  so,  for  the  things  had  been  sent,  had 
left  England,  had  reached  the  shores  of  the  Bos- 
porus. *''  Medical  stores  had  been  sent  out  by  the 
ton."  But  where  were  they?  I  have  already  told 
you;  they  were  rotting  on  the  wharves,  locked 
up  in  the  warehouses,  buried  in  the  holds  of  ves- 
sels; they  were  everywhere  except  in  the  hospi- 
tals. The  doctors  had  nothing  to  work  with,  but 
they  could  not  leave  their  work  to  find  out  why 
it  was. 

The  other  authorities  said  it  was  "  all  right ! " 


THE   BARRACK   HOSPITAL.  8l 

They  knew  the  things  had  come^  but  they  were  not 
sure  just  who  were  the  proper  persons  to  open  the 
cargoes,  take  out  and  distribute  the  stores;  it  must 
not  be  done  except  by  the  proper  persons.  This 
is  what  is  called  red  tape;  it  stands  for  authority 
without  intelligence,  and  many  books  have  been 
written  about  it.  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  child, 
a  cartoon  in  Punch  showing  the  British  soldier  en- 
tangled in  the  coils  of  a  frightful  serpent,  strug- 
gling for  life;  the  serpent  was  labeled  "  Red  Tape  J* 
(The  monster  is  still  alive  in  our  day,  but  he  is 
not  nearly  so  powerful,  and  people  are  always  on 
the  lookout  for  him,  and  can  generally  drive  him 
away. ) 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  Miss  Night- 
ingale and  her  band  of  nurses  arrived  at  Scutari. 
Her  first  round  of  the  hospitals  was  a  terrible  ex- 
perience, which  no  later  one  ever  effaced  from  her 
mind.  The  air  of  the  wards  was  so  polluted  as  to 
be  perfectly  stifling.  "  The  sheets,"  she  said,  "  were 
of  canvas,  and  so  coarse  that  the  wounded  men 
begged  to  be  left  in  their  blankets.  It  was  indeed  im- 
possible to  put  men  in  such  a  state  of  emaciation  into 
those  sheets.     There  was  no  bedroom  furniture  of 


82  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE.. 

any  kind,  and  only  empty  beer  or  wine  bottles  for 
candlesticks."  * 

The  wards  were  full  to  overflowing,  and  the  cor- 
ridors crowded  with  sick  and  wounded,  lying  on  the 
floor,  with  the  rats  running  over  them.  She  looked 
out  of  the  windows;  under  them  were  lying  dead 
animals  in  every  state  of  decay,  refuse  and  filth 
of  every  description.  She  sought  the  kitchens ;  there 
were  no  kitchens,  and  no  cooks;  at  least  nothing 
that  would  be  recognized  to-day  as  a  hospital 
kitchen.  In  the  barrack  kitchen  were  thirteen  huge 
coppers;  in  these  the  men  cooked  their  own  food, 
meat  and  vegetables  together,  the  separate  portions 
inclosed  in  nets,  all  plunged  in  together,  and  taken 
out  when  some  one  was  ready  to  take  them.  Part 
of  the  food  would  be  raw  when  it  came  out,  an- 
other part  boiled  to  rags.  This  was  all  the  food 
there  was,  for  sick  and  well,  the  wounded,  the  fever- 
stricken,  the  cholera  patient.  No  doubt  hundreds 
died  from  improper  feeding  alone. 

She  looked  for  the  laundry;  there  was  no  laun- 
dry.   There  were  washing  contracts,  but  up  to  the 

*Tooley,  "Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  126. 


THE   BARRACK   HOSPITAL.  83 

time  of  her  arrival  "  only  seven  shirts  had  been 
washed."  The  clothes  and  bed  linen  of  wounded 
men  and  of  those  sick  with  infectious  diseases  were 
thrown  in  together.  Moreover,  the  contractors 
stole  most  of  the  clothes  that  came  into  their  hands, 
so  that  the  sick  did  not  like  to  part  with  their  few 
poor  garments,  for  fear  of  never  seeing  them 
again,  and  were  practically  without  clean  linen, 
except  when  a  soldier's  wife  would  now  and  then 
take  compassion  on  them,  and  wash  out  a  few 
articles. 

These  were  the  conditions  that  Florence  Night- 
ingale had  to  meet.  A  delicate  and  sensitive 
woman,  reared  amid  beauty  and  luxury,  these  were 
the  scenes  among  which  she  was  to  live  for  nearly 
two  years.  But  one  thing  more  must  be  noted.  Do 
you  think  everyone  was  glad  to  see  her  and  her 
nurses?  Not  by  any  means!  The  overwrought 
doctors  were  dismayed  and  angered  at  the  prospect 
of  a  "  parcel  of  women  "  coming — as  they  fancied 
— to  interfere  with  their  work,  and  make  it  harder 
than  it  was  already.  The  red-tape  officials  were 
even  less  pleased.  What  ?  A  woman  in  petticoats,  a 
*'  Lady-in-Chief,"  coming  to  inquire  into  their  deeds 


84  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

and  their  methods?  Had  they  not  said  repeatedly 
that  everything  was  all  right?  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  this? 

This  was  her  coming;  this  is  what  she  found; 
now  we  shall  see  what  she  did. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE     LADY-IN-CHIEF. 

fJISS  NIGHTINGALE  arrived  at  Scu^ 
tari  on  November  4th.  You  have 
seen  what  she  found;  but  there  was 
worse  to  come.  Only  twenty- four  hours 
after  her  arrival,  the  wounded  from  the  battle  of 
Inkerman  began  to  come  in;  soon  every  inch  of 
room  in  both  the  Barrack  and  the  General  hospital 
was  full,  and  men  by  hundreds  were  lying  on  the 
muddy  ground  outside,  unable  to  find  room  even  oa 
the  floor  of  the  corridor.  Neither  Lady-in-Chief  nor 
nurses  had  had  time  to  rest  after  their  long  voyage, 
to  make  plans  for  systematic  work,  even  to  draw 
breath  after  their  first  glimpse  of  the  horrors  around 
them,  when  this  great  avalanche  of  suffering  and 
misery  came  down  upon  them.  No  woman  in  his- 
tory has  had  to  face  such  a  task  as  now  flung  itself 
upon  Florence  Nightingale. 

She  met  it  as  the  great  meet  trial,  quietly  and 
85 


S6  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

calmly.  Her  cheek  might  pale  at  what  she  had  to 
see,  but  there  was  no  flinching  in  those  clear,  gray- 
blue  eyes,  no  trembling  of  those  firm  lips.  Ship  after 
ship  discharged  its  ghastly  freight  at  the  ferry  be- 
low; train  after  train  of  wounded  was  dragged 
up  the  hill,  brought  into  the  overflowing  hospital, 
laid  down  on  pallet,  on  mattress,  on  bare  floor,  on 
muddy  ground,  wherever  space  could  be  found* 
"  The  men  lay  in  double  rows  down  the  long  cor- 
ridors, forming  several  miles  of  suffering  human- 
ity." 

As  the  poor  fellows  were  brought  in,  they  looked 
up,  and  saw  a  slender  woman  in  a  black  dress,  with 
a  pale,  beautiful  face  surmounted  by  a  close-fitting 
white  cap.  Quietly,  but  with  an  authority  that  no 
one  ever  thought  of  disputing,  she  gave  her  orders, 
directing  where  the  sufferers  were  to  be  taken,  what 
doctor  was  to  be  summoned,  what  nurses  to  attend 
them.  During  these  days  she  was  known  sometimes 
to  stand  on  her  feet  twenty  hours  at  a  time,  seeing 
that  each  man  was  put  in  the  right  place,  where  he 
might  receive  the  right  kind  of  help.  I  ask  you 
to  think  of  this  for  a  moment.  Twenty  hours! 
nearly  the  whole  of  a  day  and  night. 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  87 

Where  a  particularly  severe  operation  was  to  be 
performed,  Miss  Nightingale  was  present  whenever 
it  was  possible,  giving  to  both  surgeon  and  patient 
the  comfort  and  support  of  her  wonderful  calm 
strength  and  sympathy.  In  this  dreadful  inrush  of 
the  Inkerman  wounded,  the  surgeons  had  first  of 
all  to  separate  the  more  hopeful  cases  from  those 
that  seemed  desperate.  The  working  force  was  so 
insufficient,  they  must  devote  their  energies  to  sav- 
ing those  who  could  be  saved ;  this  is  how  it  seemed 
to  them.  Once  Miss  Nightingale  saw  five  men  lying 
together  in  a  corner,  left  just  as  they  had  come 
from  the  vessel. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  for  them  ?  "  she  asked  the 
surgeon  in  charge.    He  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  will  you  give  them  to  me  ?  " 

"  Take  them,"  replied  the  surgeon,  "  if  you  like ; 
but  we  think  their  case  is  hopeless." 

Do  you  remember  the  little  girl  sitting  by  the 
wounded  dog?  All  night  long  Florence  Nightin- 
gale sat  beside  those  five  men,  one  of  the  faithful 
nurses  with  her,  feeding  them  with  a  spoon  at  short 
intervals   till   consciousness   returned,    and   a   little 

strength  began  to  creep  back  into  their  poor  torn 

7 


^  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

bodies;  then  washing  their  wounds,  making  them 
tidy  and  decent,  and  all  the  time  cheering  them  with 
kind  and  hopeful  words.  When  morning  came  the 
surgeons,  amazed,  pronounced  the  men  in  good  con- 
dition to  be  operated  upon,  and — we  will  hope, 
though  the  story  does  not  tell  the  end — saved. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  one  poor  lad  burst  into 
tears  as  he  cried :  "  I  can't  help  it,  I  can't  indeed, 
when  I  see  them.  Only  think  of  Englishwomen 
coming  out  here  to  nurse  us !  It  seems  so  homelike 
and  comfortable.'* 

In  those  days  one  of  the  nurses  wrote  home  to 
England : 

"  It  does  appear  absolutely  impossible  to  meet 
the  wants  of  those  who  are  dying  of  dysentery  and 
exhaustion ;  out  of  four  wards  committed  to  my  care, 
eleven  men  have  died  in  the  night,  simply  from  ex- 
haustion, which,  humanly  speaking,  might  have 
been  stopped,  could  I  have  laid  my  hand  at  once  on 
such  nourishment  as  I  knew  they  ought  to  have 
had. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  be  as  near  the  scene  of  war 
as  we  are,  to  know  the  horrors  which  we  have  seen 
Rnd  heard  of.    I  know  not  which  sight  is  most  heart- 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  89 

rending — to  witness  fine  strong  men  and  youths 
worn  down  by  exhaustion  and  sinking  under  it,  or 
others  coming  in  fearfully  wounded. 

"  The  whole  of  yesterday  was  spent,  first  in  sew- 
ing the  men's  mattresses  together,  and  then  in  wash- 
ing them,  and  assisting  the  surgeons,  when  we  could, 
in  dressing  their  ghastly  wounds,  and  seeing  the 
poor  fellows  made  as  easy  as  their  circumstances 
would  admit  of,  after  their  five  days*  confinement 
on  board  ship,  during  which  space  their  wounds 
were  not  dressed.  .  .  .  We  have  not  seen  a  drop  of 
milk,  and  the  bread  is  extremely  sour.  The  butter 
is  most  filthy — it  is  Irish  butter  in  a  state  of  decom- 
position; and  the  meat  is  more  like  moist  leather 
than  food.  Potatoes  we  are  waiting  for  until  they 
arrive  from  France." 

This  was  written  six  days  after  arrival.  By  the 
tenth  day,  a  miracle  had  been  accomplished.  Miss 
Nightingale  had  established  and  fitted  up  a  kitchen, 
from  which  eight  hundred  men  were  fed  daily  with 
delicacies  and  food  suitable  to  their  condition.  Beef- 
tea,  chicken  broth,  jelly — a  quiet  wave  of  the  ward, 
and  these  things  sprang  up,  as  it  were,  out  of  the 
earth. 


90  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Hear  how  one  of  the  men  describes  it  himself. 
On  arriving  at  the  hospital  early  in  the  morning, 
he  was  given  a  bowl  of  gruel.  "  '  Tommy,  me  boy/ 
he  said  to  himself,  *  that's  all  you'll  get  into  your 
inside  this  blessed  day,  and  think  yourself  lucky 
you've  got  that.'  But  two  hours  later,  if  another 
of  them  blessed  angels  didn't  come  entreating  of 
me  to  have  just  a  little  chicken  broth !  Well,  I  took 
that,  thinking  maybe  it  w^as  early  dinner,  and  be- 
fore I  had  well  done  wondering  what  would  happen 
next,  round  the  nurse  came  again  with  a  bit  o' 
jelly,  and  all  day  long  at  intervals  they  kept  on 
bringing  me  what  they  called  *  a  little  nourish- 
ment.' In  the  evening,  Miss  Nightingale  she  came 
and  had  a  look  at  me,  and  says  she,  *  I  hope  you're 
feeling  better.'  I  could  have  said,  *  Ma'am^  I  feels 
as  fit  as  a  fightin'  cock,'  but  I  managed  to  git  out 
somethin'  a  bit  more  polite." 

How^  was  the  miracle  accomplished?  Up  to  this 
time,  the  method  of  giving  out  stores  had  been  much 
like  the  method  (only  there  was  really  no  method 
about  it!)  of  cooking  and  washing.  There  were 
no  regular  hours;  if  you  asked  for  a  thing  in  the 
morning,  you  might  get  it  in  the  evening,  when  the 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  91 

barrack  fires  were  out.  And  you  could  get  noth- 
ing at  all  until  it  had  been  inspected  by  this  official, 
approved  by  that,  and  finally  given  out  by  the  other. 
These  were  called  "  service  rules  " ;  they  were  real- 
ly folds  and  coils  of  the  monster  Red  Tape,  at 
his  work  of  binding  and  strangling.  How  was 
the  miracle  accomplished?  Simply  enough.  Miss 
Nightingale,  with  the  foresight  of  a  born  leader, 
had  anticipated  all  this,  and  was  ready  for  it.  The 
materials  for  all  the  arrowroot,  beef-tea,  chicken 
broth,  wine  jelly,  of  those  first  weeks,  came  out  of 
her  own  stores,  brought  out  with  her  in  the  vessel, 
the  Victis,  from  England.  She  had  no  intention 
of  waiting  a  day  or  an  hour  for  anyone;  she  had 
not  a  day  or  an  hour  to  waste. 

It  must  have  been  a  wonderful  cargo,  that  of  the 
Viciis;  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  the  astonishing 
bag  of  the  Mother  in  the  "  Swiss  Family  Robinson," 
or  that  still  more  marvelous  one  of  the  Fairy  Black- 
stick.     Do  you  remember? 

"  And  Giglio  returned  to  his  room,  where  the 
first  thing  he  saw  was  the  fairy  bag  lying  on  the 
table,  which  seemed  to  give  a  little  hop  as  he  came 
in.     *  I  hope  it  has  some  breakfast  in  it,'  says  Gig- 


92  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

lio,  '  for  I  have  only  a  very  little  money  left/  But 
on  opening  the  bag,  what  do  you  think  was  there? 
A  blacking-brush  and  a  pot  of  Warren's  jet,  and  on 
the  pot  was  written, 

"Poor  young  men  their  boots  must  black; 
Use  me  and  cork  me  and  put  me  back! " 

So  Giglio  laughed  and  blacked  his  boots,  and  put 
the  brush  and  the  bottle  into  the  bag. 

"  When  he  had  done  dressing  himself,  the  bag 
gave  another  hop,  and  he  went  to  it  and  took  out — 

1.  A  tablecloth  and  napkin. 

2.  A  sugar  basin  full  of  the  best  loaf  sugar. 

4,  6,  8,  lo.  Two  forks,  two  teaspoons,  two  knives,  and  a 
pair  of  sugar-tongs,  and  a  butterknife,  all  marked  G. 
II,  12,  13.  A  teacup,  saucer,  and  slop-basin. 

14.  A  jug  full  of  delicious  cream. 

15.  A  canister  with  black  tea  and  green. 

16.  A  large  tea-urn  and  boiling  water. 

17.  A  saucepan,  containing  three  eggs  nicely  done. 

18.  A  quarter  of  a  pound  of  best  Epping  butter. 

19.  A  brown  loaf. 

"  And  if  he  hadn't  enough  now  for  a  good  break- 
fast, I  should  like  to  know  who  ever  had  one  ?  " 
When  I  was  your  age,  I  never  tired  of  reading 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  93 

about  this  breakfast ;  and  then  there  was  that  other 
wonderful  day  when  the  bag  was  "  grown  so  long 
that  the  Prince  could  not  help  remarking  it.  He 
went  to  it,  opened  it,  and  what  do  you  think  he 
found  in  it? 

"  A  splendid  long  gold-handled,  red-velvet-scab- 
barded  cut-and-thrust  sword,  and  on  the  sheath  was 
embroidered  '  ROSALBA  FOREVER!'  " 

But  I  am  not  writing  the  "  Rose  and  the  Ring  " ;  I 
wish  I  were ! 

So,  as  I  said,  all  good  and  comforting  things 
came  in  those  first  days  out  of  the  Fairy  Florence's 
bag — I  mean  ship.  She  hired  a  house  close  by  the 
hospital,  and  set  up  a  laundry,  with  every  proper 
and  sanitary  arrangement,  and  there,  every  week, 
five  hundred  shirts  were  washed,  besides  other  gar- 
ments. But  now  came  a  new  difficulty.  Many  of 
the  soldiers  had  no  clothes  at  all  save  the  filthy  and 
ragged  ones  on  their  backs;  what  was  to  become 
of  them  while  their  shirts  were  washed  and  mended  ? 
The  ship  bag  gave  another  hop  (at  least  I  should 
think  it  would  have,  for  pure  joy  of  the  good  it 
was  doing),  and  out  came  ten  thousand  shirts; 
and  for  the  first  time  since  they  left  the  battle-field 


94  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

the  sick  and  wounded  men  were  clean  and  com- 
fortable. 

But  the  Lady-in-Chief  knew  that  her  fairy  stores 
were  not  of  the  kind  that  renew  themselves;  and 
having  once  got  matters  into  something  like  decent 
order  and  comfort  in  the  hospital,  she  turned  quietly 
and  resolutely  to  do  battle  with  the  monster  Red 
Tape. 

The  officials  of  Scutari  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  the  new  state  of  things.  As  I  have  said, 
many  of  them  had  shaken  their  heads  and  pulled 
very  long  faces  when  they  heard  that  a  woman  was 
coming  out  who  was  to  have  full  power  and  au- 
thority over  all  things  pertaining  to  the  care  of 
the  sick  and  wounded.  They  honestly  thought,  no 
doubt,  that  the  confusion  would  be  doubled,  the  dis- 
traction turned  to  downright  madness.  What  could 
a  woman  know  about  such  matters?  What  experi- 
ence had  she  had  of  "  service  rules  "  ?  What  would 
become  of  them  all? 

They  were  soon  to  find  out.  The  Lady-in-Chief 
did  not  cry  out,  or  wring  her  hands,  or  do  any  of 
the  things  they  had  expected.  Neither  did  she 
bluster  or  rage,  scold  or  reproach.     She  simply  said 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  95 

that  this  or  that  must  be  done,  and  then  saw 
that  it  was  done.  Her  tact  and  judgment  were 
as  great  as  her  power  and  wisdom;  more  I  cannot 
say. 

Suppose  she  wanted  certain  stores  that  were  in 
a  warehouse  on  the  wharf.  The  warehouse  was 
locked.  She  sent  for  the  wharfinger.  Would  he 
please  open  the  warehouse  and  give  her  the  stores  ? 
He  was  very  sorry,  but  he  could  not  do  so  with- 
out an  order  from  the  board.  She  went  to  the  chief 
officer  of  the  board.  He  was  very  sorry,  but  it 
would  be  necessary  to  have  a  meeting  of  the  entire 
board.  Who  made  up  the  board?  Well,  Mr.  So- 
and-so,  and  Dr.  This,  and  Mr.  That,  and  Colonel 
'Tother.  Where  were  they?  Well,  one  of  them 
was  not  very  well,  and  another  was  probably  out 
riding,  and  a  third 

Would  he  please  call  them  together  at  once? 

Well,  he  was  extremely  busy  just  now,  but  to- 
morrow or  the  day  after,  he  would  be  delighted 


Would  he  be  ready  himself  for  a  meeting,  if  Miss 
Nightingale  could  get  the  other  members  of  the 
board  together?  Well — of  course — he  would  be 
delighted,  but  he  could  assure  Miss  Nightingale  that 


96  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

everything  would  be  all  right,  without  her  having 
the  trouble  to 


The  board  met;  pen,  ink  and  paper  were  ready. 
Would  they  kindly  sign  the  order?  Many  thanks! 
Good  morning! 

And  the  warehouse  was  opened,  and  the  goods 
on  their  way  to  the  hospital,  before  the  astonished 
gentlemen  had  fairly  drawn  their  breath. 

"  But  what  kind  of  way  is  this  to  do  business  ?  " 
cried  the  slaves  of  Red  Tape.  "  She  doesn't  give 
us  time!  The  moment  a  thing  is  wanted,  she  goes 
and  gets  it !  !  !    The  rules  of  the  service " 

But  this  was  not  true;  for,  as  methodical  as  she 
was  wise  and  generous.  Miss  Nightingale  was  most 
careful  to  consult  the  proper  authorities,  and,  when- 
ever it  was  possible,  to  make  them  take  the  neces- 
sary steps  themselves.  Once,  and  only  once,  did 
she  absolutely  take  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 
There  came  a  moment  when  certain  stores  were 
desperately  needed  for  some  sick  and  wounded  men. 
The  stores  were  at  hand,  but  they  had  not  been 
inspected,  and  Red  Tape  had  decreed  that  nothing 
should  be  given  out  until  it  had  been  inspected  by 
the  board.      (This  was  another  board,  probably; 


THE   LADY-IN-CHIEF.  97 

their  name  was  Legion. )  Miss  Nightingale  tried  to 
get  the  board  together,  but  this  time  without  suc- 
cess. One  was  away,  and  another  was  ill,  and  a 
third  was — I  don't  know  where.  The  clear  gray- 
blue  eyes  grew  stern. 

"  I  must  have  these  things ! ''  she  said  quietly. 
"My  men  are  dying  for  lack  of  them." 

The  under-official  stammered  and  turned  pale ;  he 
did  not  wish  to  disobey  her,  but — it  meant  a  court- 
martial  for  him  if  he  disobeyed  the  rules  of  the 
service. 

"  You  shall  have  no  blame,"  said  the  Lady-in- 
Chief.  "  I  take  the  entire  responsibility  upon  my- 
self.   Open  the  door !  " 

The  door  was  opened,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
sick  men  had  the  stimulants  for  lack  of  which  they 
were  sinking  into  exhaustion. 

When  Miss  Nightingale  arrived  at  Scutari,  the 
death  rate  in  the  Barrack  Hospital  was  sixty  per 
cent;  within  a  few  months  it  was  reduced  to  one 
per  cent;  and  this,  under  heaven,  was  accomplished 
by  her  and  her  devoted  band  of  nurses.  Do  you 
wonder  that  she  was  called  "  The  Angel  of  the 
Crimea  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE   LADY   WITH   THE   LAMP. 

Whene'er  a  noble  deed  is  wrought,* 
Whene'er  is  spoken  a  noble  thought, 

Our  hearts,  in  glad  surprise, 

To  higher  levels  rise. 

The  tidal  wave  of  deeper  souls 
Into  our  inmost  being  rolls, 

And  lifts  us  unawares 

Out  of  all  meaner  cares. 

Honor  to  those  whose  words  or  deeds 
Thus  help  us  in  our  daily  needs, 
And  by  their  overflow 
Raise  us  from  what  is  low! 

Thus  thought  I,  as  by  night  I  read 
Of  the  great  army  of  the  dead. 
The  trenches  cold  and  damp. 
The  starved  and  frozen  camp, — 

The  wounded  from  the  battle-plain, 
In  dreary  hospitals  of  pain. 

The  cheerless  corridors. 

The  cold  and  stony  floors. 


**' Santa  Filomena,"  by  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
9S 


THE   LADY  WITH   THE   LAMP.  99 

Lo!  in  that  house  of  misery 
A  lady  with  a  lamp  I  see 

Pass  through  the  glimmering  gloom. 

And  flit  from  room  to  room. 


And  slow,  as  in  a  dream  of  bliss, 
The  speechless  sufferer  tiu-ns  to  kiss 

Her  shadow,  as  it  falls 

Upon  the  darkening  walls. 

As  if  a  door  in  heaven  should  be 
Opened  and  then  closed  suddenly, 
The  vision  came  and  went, 
The  light  shone  and  was  spent. 

On  England's  annals,  through  che  long 
Hereafter  of  her  speech  and  song, 

That  light  its  rays  shall  cast 

From  portals  of  the  past. 

A  Lady  with  a  Lamp  shall  stand 
In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 

A  noble  type  of  good, 

Heroic  womanhood. 

Nor  even  shall  be  wanting  here 
The  palm,  the  lily,  and  the  spear, 

The  symbols  that  of  yore 

Saint  Filomena  bore. 


lOO  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

ISS  NIGHTINGALE'S  headquarters 
were  in  the  "  Sisters'  Tower,"  as  it  came 
to  be  called,  one  of  the  four  corner  tow- 
ers of  the  great  building.  Here  was  a 
large,  airy  room,  with  doors  opening  off  it  on  each 
side.  In  the  middle  was  a  large  table,  covered  with 
stores  of  every  kind,  constantly  in  demand,  con- 
stantly replaced ;  and  on  the  floor,  and  flowing  into 
all  the  corners,  were — ^more  stores !  Bales  of  shirts, 
piles  of  socks,  slippers,  dressing  gowns,  sheets,  flan- 
nels—everything you  can  think  of  that  is  useful  and 
comfortable  in  time  of  sickness.  About  these  piles 
the  white-capped  nurses  came  and  went,  like  bees 
about  a  hive ;  all  was  quietly  busy,  cheerful,  method- 
ical. In  a  small  room  opening  off  the  large  one 
the  Lady-in-Chief  held  her  councils  with  nurses, 
doctors,  generals  or  orderlies ;  giving  to  all  the  same 
courteous  attention,  the  same  clear,  calm,  helpful 
advice  or  directions.  Here,  too,  for  hours  at  a  time, 
she  sat  at  her  desk,  writing ;  letters  to  Sidney  Her- 
bert and  his  wife ;  letters  to  Lord  Raglan,  the  com- 
mander-in-chief, who,  though  at  first  averse  to  her 
coming,  became  one  of  her  firmest  friends  and  ad- 


THE  LADY  WITH  THE  LAMP.  loi 

mirers ;  letters  to  sorrowing  wives  and  mothers  and 
sisters  in  England.  She  received  letters  by  the 
thousand;  she  could  not  answer  them  all  with  her 
own  hand,  but  I  am  sure  she  answered  as  many  as 
was  possible.  One  letter  was  forwarded  to  her  by 
the  Herberts  which  gave  a  great  pleasure  not  to 
her  only,  but  to  everyone  in  all  that  place  of  suf- 
fering. It  was  dated  Windsor  Castle,  December 
6,  1854. 

"  Would  you  tell  Mrs.  Herbert,"  wrote  good 
Queen  Victoria,  "  that  I  beg  she  would  let  me  see 
frequently  the  accounts  she  receives  from  Miss 
Nightingale  or  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  as  /  hear  no  details 
of  the  wounded,  though  I  see  so  many  from  officers, 
etc.,  about  the  battlefield,  and  naturally  the  former 
must  interest  me  more  than  anyone. 

"  Let  Mrs.  Herbert  also  know  that  I  wish  Miss 
Nightingale  and  the  ladies  would  tell  these  poor, 
noble  wounded  and  sick  men,  that  fw  one  takes  a 
warmer  interest  or  feels  nwre  for  their  sufferings  or 
admires  their  courage  and  heroism  more  than  their 
Queen.  Day  and  night  she  thinks  of  her  beloved 
troops.     So  does  the  Prince. 

"  Beg  Mrs.   Herbert  to  communicate  these  my 


I02  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

words  to  those  ladies,  as  I  know  that  our  sympathy 
is  much  valued  by  these  noble  fellows. — Victoria.'* 

I  think  the  tears  may  have  come  into  those  clear 
eyes  of  Miss  Nightingale,  when  she  read  these 
words.  She  gave  the  letter  to  one  of  the  chaplains, 
and  he  went  from  ward  to  ward,  reading  it  aloud 
to  the  men,  and  ending  each  reading  with  "  God 
save  the  Queen !  "  The  words  were  murmured  or 
whispered  after  him  by  the  lips  of  sick  and  dying, 
and  through  all  the  mournful  place  went  a  great 
wave  of  tender  love  and  loyalty  toward  the  good 
Queen  in  England,  and  toward  their  own  queen, 
their  angel,  who  had  shared  her  pleasure  with 
them. 

You  will  hardly  believe  that  in  England,  while  the 
Queen  was  writing  thus,  some  people  were  still  sadly 
troubled  about  Miss  Nightingale's  religious  views, 
and  were  writing  to  the  papers,  warning  other  peo- 
ple against  her;  but  so  it  was.  One  clergyman 
actually  warned  his  flock  not  to  subscribe  money  for 
the  soldiers  in  the  East  "  if  it  was  to  pass  through 
Popish  hands."  He  thought  the  Lady-in-Chief  was 
a  Catholic;  others  still  maintained  that  she  was  a 
Unitarian ;  others  were  sure  she  had  gone  out  with 


THE   LADY  WITH   THE   LAMP.  103 

the  real  purpose  of  converting  the  soldiers  to  High- 
Church  views. 

In  reading  about  this  kind  of  thing,  it  is  com- 
forting to  find  one  good  Irish  clergyman  who,  be- 
ing a^ed  to  what  sect  Miss  Nightingale  belonged, 
replied :  "  She  belongs  to  a  sect  which  unfortunately 
is  a  very  rare  one — the  sect  of  the  Good  Samari- 
tans." 

But  these  grumblers  were  only  a  few,  w^e  must 
think.  The  great  body  of  English  people  was  filled 
with  an  enthusiasm  of  gratitude  toward  the  "  angel 
band  "  and  its  leader.  From  the  Queen  in  her  pal- 
ace down  to  the  humblest  working  women  in  her 
cottage,  all  were  at  work  making  lint  and  bandages, 
shirts  and  socks  and  havelocks  for  the  soldiers.  Nor 
were  they  content  with  making  things.  Every 
housekeeper  ransacked  her  linen  closet  and  camphor 
chest,  piled  sheets  and  blankets  and  pillowcases  to- 
gether, tied  them  up  in  bundles,  addressed  them  to 
Miss  Nightingale,  and  sent  them  off. 

When  Sister  Mary  Aloysius  first  began  to  sort 
the  bales  of  goods  on  the  wharf  at  Scutari,  she 
thought  that  "  the  English  nobility  must  have 
emptied  their  wardrobes  and  linen  stores,  to  send 


104  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

out  bandages  for  the  wounded.  There  was  the  most 
beautiful  underclothing,  and  the  finest  cambric 
sheets,  with  merely  a  scissors  run  here  and  there 
through  them,  to  insure  their  being  used  for  no 
other  purpose,  some  from  the  Queen's  palace,  with 
the  royal  monogram  beautifully  worked." 

Yes,  and  the  rats  had  a  wonderful  time  with  all 
these  fine  and  delicate  things,  before  the  Sisters 
could  get  their  hands  on  them  I 

These  private  gifts  were  not  the  only  nor  the 
largest  ones.  The  TimeSy  which  you  will  remem- 
ber had  been  the  first  to  reveal  the  terrible  conditions 
in  the  Crimea,  now  set  to  work  and  organized  a 
fund  for  the  relief  of  the  wounded.  A  subscrip- 
tion list  was  opened,  and  from  every  part  of  the 
United  Kingdom  money  flowed  in  like  water.  The 
Times  undertook  to  distribute  the  money,  and  ap- 
pointed a  good  and  wise  man,  Mr.  McDonald,  to 
go  out  to  the  East  and  see  how  it  could  best  be 
applied. 

And  now  a  strange  thing  came  to  pass;  the  sort 
of  thing  that,  in  one  way  or  another,  was  constantly 
happening  in  connection  with  the  Crimean  War. 
Mr.  McDonald  went  to  the  highest  authorities  in 


THE    LADY   WITH   THE    LAMP.  105 

the  War  Office  and  told  of  his  purpose.  They  bowed 
and  smiled  and  said  the  Times  and  its  subscribers 
were  very  kind,  but  the  fact  was  that  such  am- 
ple provision  had  been  made  by  the  Government  that 
it  was  hardly  likely  the  money  would  be  needed. 
Mr.  McDonald  opened  his  eyes  wide;  but  he  was 
a  wise  man,  as  I  have  said ;  so  he  bowed  and  smiled 
in  return,  and  going  to  Sidney  Herbert,  told  his 
story  to  him. 

"Go!"  said  Mr.  Herbert;  "Go  out  to  the 
Crimea !  "  and  he  went. 

When  he  reached  the  seat  of  war,  it  was  the  same 
thing  over  again.  The  high  officials  were  very  po- 
lite, very  glad  to  see  him,  very  pleased  that  the 
people  of  England  were  so  sympathetic  and  patri- 
otic ;  but  the  fact  was  that  nothing  was  wanted ;  they 
were  amply  supplied ;  in  short,  everything  was  "  all 
right." 

Many  men,  after  this  second  rebuff,  would  have 
given  the  matter  up  and  gone  home;  but  Mr.  Mc- 
Donald was  not  of  that  kind.  While  he  was  con- 
sidering what  step  to  take  next,  one  man  came  for- 
ward to  help  him;  one  man  who  was  brave  enough 
to  defy  Red  Tape,  for  the  sake  of  his  soldiers.    This 


lo6  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

was  the  surgeon  of  the  39th  regiment.  I  wish  I 
knew  his  name,  so  that  you  and  I  could  remember 
it.  He  came  to  Mr.  McDonald  and  told  him  that 
his  regiment,  which  had  been  stationed  at  Gibral- 
tar, had  been  ordered  to  the  Crimea  and  had  now 
reached  the  Bosporus.  They  were  going  on  to 
the  Crimea,  to  pass  the  winter  in  bitter  cold,  amid 
ice  and  snow;  and  they  had  no  clothes  save  the 
light  linen  suits  which  had  been  given  them  to  wear 
under  the  hot  sun  of  Gibraltar. 

Here  was  a  chance  for  the  Times  fund!  With- 
out more  ado  Mr.  McDonald  went  into  the  bazaars 
of  Constantinople  and  bought  flannels  and  wool- 
ens, until  every  man  in  that  regiment  had  a  good 
warm  winter  suit  in  which  to  face  the  Crimean 
winter. 

Did  anyone  else  follow  the  example  of  the  sur- 
geon of  the  39th  ?  Not  one !  Probably  many  per- 
sons thought  he  had  done  a  shocking  thing,  by 
thus  exposing  the  lack  of  provision  in  the  army 
for  its  soldiers'  comfort.  This  was  casting  reflec- 
tion upon  Red  Tape !  Better  for  the  soldier  to  freeze 
and  die,  than  for  a  slur  to  be  cast  upon  those  in  au- 
thority, upon  the  rules  of  the  service! 


THE   LADY  WITH   THE  LAMP.  107 

So,  though  McDonald  stood  with  hands  held  out, 
as  it  were,  offering  help,  no  one  came  forward  to 
take  it. 

He  went  to  Scutari,  and  here  at  first  it  was  the 
same  thing.  He  offered  his  aid  to  the  chief  medi- 
cal authority  over  the  hospitals ;  the  reply  was  calm 
and  precise :  "  Nothing  was  wanted  1 "  He  went 
still  higher,  to  "  another  and  more  august  quarter  '* ; 
the  answer  was  still  more  emphatic:  there  was 
no  possible  occasion  for  help;  soldiers  and  sailors 
had  everything  they  required;  if  he  wished  to  dis- 
pose of  the  Times  fund,  it  might  be  a  good  thing 
to  build  an  English  church  at  Pera! 

"  Yet,  at  that  very  time,"  says  the  historian  of 
the  Crimea,  "  wants  so  dire  as  to  include  want  of 
hospital  furniture  and  of  shirts  for  the  patients,  and 
of  the  commonest  means  for  maintaining  clean- 
liness, were  afflicting  our  stricken  soldiery  in  the 
hospitals."  * 

Mr.  McDonald  did  not  build  an  English  church; 
instead,  he  went  to  the  Barrack  Hospital  and  asked 
for  the  Lady-in-Chief. 

*  Kinglake,  "  Invasion  of  the  Crimea." 


Io8  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  Florence  Nightingale's 
face  when  she  heard  his  story.  No  help  needed? 
The  soldiers  supplied  with  everything  they  needed? 
Everything  "  all  right  "  ? 

"  Come  with  me !  "  she  said. 

She  took  him  through  the  wards  of  the  Barrack 
Hospital,  and  showed  him  what  had  been  done,  and 
what  an  immense  deal  was  yet  to  do ;  how,  though 
many  were  comfortably  clad,  yet  fresh  hundreds 
were  arriving  constantly,  half  naked,  without  a 
shred  of  clean  or  decent  clothing  on  their  backs; 
how  far  the  demand  was  beyond  the  supply;  how 
fast  her  own  stores  were  dwindling,  and  how  many 
of  the  private  offerings  were  unsuitable  for  the  needs 
they  were  sent  to  fill;  how  many  men  were  still, 
after  all  her  labors,  lying  on  the  floor  because  there 
were  not  beds  enough  to  go  round. 

All  these  things  good  Mr.  McDonald  saw,  and 
laid  to  heart ;  but  he  saw  other  things  besides. 

Perhaps  some  of  you  have  visited  a  hospital. 
You  have  seen  the  bright,  fresh,  pleasant  rooms, 
the  rows  of  snowy  cots,  the  bright  faces  of  the 
nurses,  here  and  there  flowers  and  pictures;  see- 
ing two  or  three  hundred  patients,  it  has  seemed 


THE   LADY   WITH   THE   LAMP.  109 

to  you  as  if  you  had  seen  all  the  sick  people  in  the 
world.     Was  it  not  so? 

In  the  Barrack  Hospital  (and  this,  remember, 
was  but  one  of  eight,  and  these  eight  the  Eng- 
lish hospitals  alone!)  there  were  two  or  three 
thousand  patients ;  it  was  a  City  of  Pain.  Its  streets 
were  long,  narrow  rooms  or  corridors,  bare  and 
gloomy;  no  furniture  save  the  endless  rows  of  cots 
and  mattresses,  "  packed  like  sardines,"  as  one  eye- 
witness says;  Its  citizens,  men  in  every  stage  of 
sickness  and  suffering;  some  tossing  in  fever  and 
delirium;  some  moaning  in  pain  that  even  a  sol- 
dier's strength  could  not  bear  silently ;  some  ghastly 
with  terrible  wounds ;  some  sinking  into  their  final 
sleep. 

Following  the  light,  slight  figure  of  his  guide 
through  these  narrow  streets  of  the  City  of  Pain, 
McDonald  saw  and  noted  that 

"  Wherever  there  is  disease  in  its  most  danger- 
ous form,  and  the  hand  of  the  Spoiler  distressingly 
nigh,  there  is  this  incomparable  woman  sure  to  be 
seen.  Her  benignant  presence  is  an  influence  for 
good  comfort  even  among  the  struggles  of  ex- 
piring nature.     She   is  a  *  ministering  angel '  with- 


no  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

out  any  exaggeration  in  these  hospitals,  and  as  the 
slender  form  glides  quietly  along  each  corridor, 
every  poor  fellow's  face  softens  with  gratitude  at 
the  sight  of  her.  When  all  the  medical  officers  have 
retired  for  the  night,  and  silence  and  darkness  have 
settled  down  upon  those  miles  of  prostrate  sick,  she 
may  be  observed  alone,  with  lamp  in  her  hand,  mak- 
ing her  solitary  rounds. 

"  The  popular  instinct  was  not  mistaken  which, 
when  she  set  out  from  England,  hailed  her  as  a 
heroine;  I  trust  she  may  not  earn  her  title  to  a 
higher  though  sadder  appellation.  No  one  who  has 
observed  her  fragile  figure  and  delicate  health  can 
avoid  misgivings  lest  these  should  fail.  ...  I 
confidently  assert  that  but  for  Miss  Nightingale  the 
people  of  England  would  scarcely,  with  all  their 
solicitude,  have  been  spared  the  additional  pang  of 
knowing,  which  they  must  have  done  sooner  or 
later,  that  their  soldiers,  even  in  the  hospitals,  had 
found  scanty  refuge  and  relief  from  the  unparal- 
leled miseries  with  which  this  war  has  hitherto  been 
attended." 

Look  with  me  for  a  moment  into  one  of  these 
wards,  these  "  miles  of  sick "  through  which  the 


THE  LADY  WITH  THE  LAMP.      in 

agent  of  the  Times  passed  with  his  gnide.  It  is 
night.  Outside,  the  world  is  wide  and  wonderful 
with  moon  and  stars.  Beyond  the  dark-blue  waters 
of  the  Bosporus,  the  lights  of  Stamboul  flash  and 
twinkle ;  nearer  at  hand,  the  moonlight  falls  on  the 
white  city  of  the  dead,  and  shows  its  dark  cypresses 
standing  like  silent  guardians  beside  the  marble 
tombs;  nearer  yet,  it  falls  full  on  the  bare,  gaunt 
square  of  building  that  crowns  the  hill.  The  win- 
dows are  narrow,  but  still  the  moonbeams  struggle 
in,  and  cast  a  dim  light  along  the  corridor.  The 
vaulted  roof  is  lost  in  blackness ;  black,  too,  are  the 
corners,  and  we  cannot  see  where  the  orderly  nods 
in  his  chair,  or  where  the  night  nurse  sits  beside 
a  dying  patient.  All  is  silent,  save  for  a  low  moan 
or  murmur  from  one  cot  or  another.  See  where 
the  moonbeam  glimmers  white  on  that  cot  under  the 
window!  That  is  where  the  Highland  soldier  is 
lying,  he  who  came  so  near  losing  his  arm  the  other 
day.  The  surgeons  said  it  must  be  amputated,  but 
the  Lady-in-Chief  begged  for  a  little  time.  She 
thought  that  with  care  and  nursing  the  arm  might 
be  saved ;  would  they  kindly  delay  the  operation  at 
least  for  a  few  days  ?    The  surgeons  consented,  for 


112  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

by  this  time  no  one  could  or  would  refuse  her  any- 
thing. The  arm  was  saved ;  now  the  bones  are  knit- 
ting nicely,  and  by  and  by  he  will  be  well  and  strong 
again,  with  both  arms  to  work  and  play  and  fight 
with. 

But  broken  bones  hurt  even  when  they  are  knit- 
ting nicely,  and  the  Highland  lad  cannot  sleep;  he 
lies  tossing  about  on  his  narrow  cot,  gritting  his 
teeth  now  and  then  as  the  pain  bites,  but  still  a 
happy  and  a  thankful  man.  He  stares  about  him 
through  the  gloom,  trying  to  see  who  is  awake  and 
who  asleep.  But  now  he  starts,  for  silently  the 
door  opens,  and  a  tiny  ray  of  light,  like  a  golden 
finger,  falls  across  his  bed.  A  figure  enters  and 
closes  the  door  softly;  the  figure  of  a  woman,  tall 
and  slender,  dressed  in  black,  with  white  cap  and 
apron.  In  her  hand  she  carries  a  small  shaded  lamp. 
At  sight  of  her  the  sick  lad's  eyes  grow  bright;  he 
raises  his  sound  arm  and  straightens  the  blanket, 
then  waits  in  eager  patience.  Slowly  the  Lady  with 
the  Lamp  draws  near,  stopping  beside  each  cot,  lis- 
tening to  the  breathing  and  noting  the  color  of  the 
sleepers,  whispering  a  word  of  cheer  and  encourage- 
ment to  those  who  wake.     Now  she  stands  beside 


THE  LADY  WITH  THE  LAMP.  1 13 

his  bed,  and  her  radiant  smile  is  brighter,  he  thinks, 
than  lamplight  or  moonlight.  A  few  words  in  the 
low,  musical  voice,  a  pat  to  the  bedclothes,  a  friendly 
nod,  and  she  passes  on  to  the  next  cot.  As  she 
goes,  her  shadow,  hardly  more  noiseless  than  her 
footstep,  falls  across  the  sick  man's  pillow;  he 
turns  and  kisses  it,  and  then  falls  happily  asleep. 

So  she  comes  and  passes,  like  a  light ;  and  so  her 
very  shadow  is  blessed,  and  shall  be  blessed  so  long 
as  memory  endures. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WINTER. 

O  the  long  and  dreary  winter!  * 
O  the  cold  and  cruel  winter! 
Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker 
Froze  the  ice  on  lake  and  river, 
Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper 
Fell  the  snow  o'er  all  the  landscape, 
Fell  the  covering  snow,  and  drifted 
Through  the  forest,  round  the  village. 

O  the  famine  and  the  fever! 

O  the  wasting  of  the  famine! 

O  the  blasting  of  the  fever! 

O  the  wailing  of  the  children! 

O  the  anguish  of  the  women! 

AU  the  earth  was  sick  and  famished; 

Hungry  was  the  air  around  them, 

Himgry  was  the  sky  above  them. 

And  the  hungry  stars  in  heaven 

Like  the  eyes  of  wolves  glared  at  them! 

*  "  Hiawatha,"  by  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
114 


WINTER.  115 


\f^a  g^iIHE  bad  weather  commenced  about  No- 
QS3  ™^  vember  the  loth,  and  has  continued 
ever  since.  A  winter  campaign  is  un- 
der no  circumstances  child's  play;  but 
here,  where  the  troops  had  no  cantonments  to 
take  shelter  in,  where  large  bodies  were  collected 
in  one  spot,  and  where  the  want  of  sufficient  fuel 
soon  made  itself  felt,  it  told  with  the  greatest  se- 
verity upon  the  health,  not  of  the  British  alone, 
but  of  the  French  and  Turkish  troops.  ...  To 
the  severity  of  the  winter  the  whole  army  can 
bear  ample  testimony.  The  troops  have  felt  it  in 
all  its  intensity ;  and  when  it  is  considered  that  they 
have  been  under  canvas  from  ten  to  twelve  months 
— ^that  they  had  no  other  shelter  from  the  sun  in 
summer,  and  no  other  protection  from  wet  and  snow, 
cold  and  tempestuous  winds,  such  as  have  scarcely 
been  known  even  in  this  climate,  in  winter — ^and  that 
they  passed  from  a  life  of  total  inactivity,  already 
assailed  by  deadly  disease,  to  one  of  the  greatest 
possible  exertion — it  cannot  be  a  matter  of  surprise 
that  a  fearful  sickness  has  prevailed  throughout 
their  ranks,   and  that  the   men  still   suffer   from 


Il6  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

it." — Lord    Raglan   to   Lord    Panmure,   February, 

1855. 

^^  After  the  battle  of  Inkerman,  the  allied  armies 
turned  all  their  energies  to  the  siege  of  Sebastopol, 
the  principal  city  of  the  Crimea.  You  will  read 
some  day  about  this  memorable  siege,  one  of  the 
most  famous  in  history,  and  about  the  prodigies  of 
valor  performed  by  both  besiegers  and  besieged;  but 
I  can  only  touch  briefly  on  those  aspects  of  it  which 
are  connected  with  my  subject. 

The  winter  of  1854-5  was,  as  Lord  Raglan  says, 
one  of  unexampled  severity,  even  in  that  land  of 
bitter  winters.  On  November  14th  a  terrible  hurri- 
cane swept  the  country,  bringing  death  and  ruin  to 
Russians  and  allies  alike.  In  Sebastopol  itself 
trees  were  torn  up  by  the  roots,  buildings  unroofed, 
and  much  damage  done ;  in  the  camps  of  the  besieg- 
ers things  were  even  worse.  Tents  were  torn  in 
shreds  and  swept  away  like  dead  leaves;  not  only 
the  soldiers'  tents,  but  the  great  hospital  marquees 
were  destroyed,  and  the  sick  and  wounded  left  ex- 
posed to  bitter  blast  and  freezing  sleet.  The 
trenches  were  flooded;  no  fires  could  be  lit,  and 
therefore  no  food  cooked ;  and  when  the  snowstorm 


WINTER.  117 

came  which  followed  the  tempest,  many  a  brave 
fellow  lay  down  famished  and  exhausted,  and  the 
white  blanket  covered  his  last  sleep. 

In  the  harbor  even  more  ruin  was  wrought,  for 
the  ships  were  dashed  about  like  broken  toys  that  a 
wilful  child  flings  hither  and  thither.  The  Prince, 
which  had  just  arrived  loaded  with  clothing,  medi- 
cines, stores  of  every  description,  went  down  with 
all  her  precious  freight;  the  Resolute  was  lost, 
too,  the  principal  ammunition  ship  of  the  army ;  and 
other  vessels  loaded  with  hay  for  the  horses,  a  sup- 
ply which  would  have  fed  them  for  twenty  days. 

This  dreadful  calamity  was  followed  by  day  after 
day  of  what  the  soldiers  called  "Inkerman  weather," 
with  heavy  mists  and  low  drizzling  clouds;  then 
came  bitter,  killing  frost,  then  snow,  thaw,  sleet, 
frost  again,  and  so  round  and  round  in  a  cruel  circle ; 
and  through  every  variation  of  weather  the  soldier's 
bed  was  the  earth,  now  deep  in  snow,  now  bare  and 
hard  as  iron,  now  thick  with  nauseous  mud.  All 
day  long  the  soldiers  toiled  in  the  trenches  with 
pick  and  spade,  often  under  fire,  always  on  the  alert ; 
others  on  night  duty,  "  five  nights  out  of  six,  a 
large  proportion  of  them  constantly  under  fire." 


Il8  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  plague  and  cholera 
broke  out  in  the  camp  of  the  besiegers,  and  that  a 
steady  stream  of  poor  wretches  came  creeping  up 
the  hill  at  Scutari? 

The  Lady-in-Chief  was  ready  for  them.  Thanks 
to  the  Times  fund  and  other  subscriptions,  she  now 
had  ample  provision  for  many  days.  Moreover,  by 
this  winter  time  her  influence  so  dominated  the  hos- 
pital that  not  only  was  there  no  opposition  to  her 
wishes,  but  everyone  flew  to  carry  them  out.  The 
rough  orderlies,  who  had  growled  and  sworn  at  the 
notion  of  a  woman  coming  to  order  them  about, 
were  now  her  slaves.  Her  unvarying  courtesy,  her 
sweet  and  heavenly  kindness,  woke  in  many  a  rugged 
breast  feelings  of  which  it  had  never  dreamed ;  and 
every  man  who  worked  for  her  was  for  the  time 
at  least  a  knight  and  a  gentleman.  It  was  bitter, 
hard  work ;  she  spared  them  no  more  than  she  spared 
herself;  but  they  labored  as  no  rules  of  the  service 
had  ever  made  them  work.  Through  it  all,  not  one  of 
them,  orderlies  or  common  soldiers,  ever  failed  her 
"  in  obedience,  thoughtful  attention,  and  considerate 
delicacy."  "  Never,"  she  herself  says,  "  came  from 
any  of  them  one  word  or  one  look  which  a  gentle- 


WINTER.  119 

man  would  not  have  used;  and  while  paying  this 
humble  tribute  to  humble  courtesy,  the  tears  come 
into  my  eyes  as  I  think  how  amidst  scenes  of  loath- 
some disease  and  death  there  arose  above  it  all  the 
innate  dignity,  gentleness  and  chivalry  of  the  men 
(for  never  surely  was  chivalry  so  strikingly  exem- 
plified), shining  in  the  midst  of  what  must  be  con- 
sidered as  the  lowest  sinks  of  human  misery,  and 
preventing  instinctively  the  use  of  one  expression 
which  could  distress  a  gentlewoman." 

If  it  was  so  with  the  orderlies,  you  can  imagine 
how  it  was  with  the  poor  fellows  for  whom  she  was 
working.  Every  smile  from  her  was  a  gift;  every 
word  was  a  precious  treasure  to  be  stored  away  and 
kept  through  life.  They  would  do  anything  she 
asked,  for  they  knew  she  would  do  anything  in  her 
power  for  them.  When  any  specially  painful  opera- 
tion was  to  be  performed  (there  was  not  always 
chloroform  enough,  alas!  and  in  any  case  it  was 
not  given  so  freely  in  those  days  as  it  is  now),  the 
Lady-in-Chief  would  come  quietly  into  the  operating 
room  and  take  her  stand  beside  the  patient;  and 
looking  up  into  that  calm,  steadfast  face,  and  meet- 
ing the  tender  gaze  of  those  pitying  eyes  that  never 
9 


I20  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

flinched  from  any  sight  of  pain  or  horror,  he  would 
take  courage  and  nerve  himself  to  bear  the  pain, 
since  she  was  there  to  help  him  bear  it. 

"  We  call  her  the  Angel  of  the  Crimea,"  one 
soldier  wrote  home.  "  Could  bad  men  be  bad  in 
the  presence  of  an  angel  ?    Impossible !  " 

Another  wrote :  "  Before  she  came  there  was 
such  cussin'  and  swearin'  as  you  never  heard ;  but 
after  she  came  it  was  as  holy  as  a  church." 

And  still  another — ^perhaps  our  Highland  lad  of 
the  night  vigil,  perhaps  another — wrote  to  his 
people :  "  She  would  speak  to  one  and  another,  and 
nod  and  smile  to  many  more;  but  she  could  not 
do  it  to  all,  you  know,  for  we  lay  there  by  hundreds ; 
but  we  could  kiss  her  shadow  as  it  fell,  and  lay  our 
heads  on  our  pillows  again  content." 

Miss  Nightingale  never  wearied  of  bearing  tes- 
timony to  the  many  virtues  of  the  British  soldier. 
She  loved  to  tell  stories  like  the  following : 

"  I  remember  a  sergeant  who,  on  picket — ^the  rest 
of  the  picket  killed,  and  himself  battered  about  the 
head — stumbled  back  to  camp  (before  Sebastopol), 
and  on  his  way  picked  up  a  wounded  man  and 
brought  him  on  his  shoulders  to  the  lines,  where  he 


WINTER.  121 

fell  down  insensible.  When,  after  many  hours,  he 
recovered  his  senses,  I  believe  after  trepanning,  his 
first  words  were  to  ask  after  his  comrade :  *  Is  he 
alive  ? ' 

"  *  Comrade  indeed !  yes,  he's  alive — it's  the  Gen- 
eral ! '  At  that  moment  the  General,  though  badly 
wounded,  appeared  at  the  bedside.  *  Oh !  General, 
it  was  you,  was  it,  I  brought  in?  I'm  so  glad;  I 
didn't  know  your  honor.  But  if  I'd  known  it  was 
you,  I'd  have  saved  you  all  the  same ! '  " 

I  must  not  leave  the  story  of  this  winter  without 
telling  of  all  that  Miss  Nightingale  did  for  the 
soldiers'  wives.  There  were  many  of  these  poor 
women,  who  had  come  out  to  this  far  country  to 
be  near  their  husbands.  There  was  no  proper  pro- 
vision for  them,  and  Miss  Nightingale  found  them 
in  a  wretched  condition,  living  in  three  or  four 
damp,  dark  rooms  in  the  basement  of  the  hospital. 
Their  clothes  were  w^orn  out;  they  were  bare- 
footed and  bareheaded.  We  are  told  that  "  the 
only  privacy  to  be  obtained  was  by  hanging  up 
rags  of  clothes  on  lines.  There,  by  the  light  of  a 
rushlight,  the  meals  were  taken,  the  sick  attended, 
and   there  the   babies  were   born    and   nourished. 


122  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

There  were  twenty-two  babies  born  from  November 
to  December,  and  many  more  during  the  winter,"  * 
The  Lady-in-Chief  soon  put  an  end  to  this  state 
of  things.  First  she  fed  and  clothed  the  women 
from  her  own  stores,  and  saw  that  the  Httle  babies 
were  made  warm  and  comfortable.  In  January  a 
fever  broke  out  among  the  women,  owing  to  a 
broken  drain  in  the  basement,  and  she  found  a 
house  near  by,  had  it  cleaned  and  furnished,  and  per- 
suaded the  commandant  to  move  the  women  into  it. 
All  through  the  winter  she  helped  these  poor  souls 
in  every  way,  employing  some  in  the  laundry,  find- 
ing situations  for  others  in  Constantinople,  sending 
widows  home  to  England,  helping  to  start  a  school 
for  the  children.  Altogether  about  five  hundred 
women  were  helped  out  of  the  miserable  condition 
in  which  she  found  them,  and  were  enabled  to  earn 
their  own  living  honestly  and  respectably.  Writing 
of  these  times  later,  Miss  Nightingale  says :  "  When 
the  improvements  in  our  system  which  the  war  must 
suggest  are  discussed,  let  not  the  wife  and  child  of 
the  soldier  be  forgotten." 

*  Tooley,  "Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  154. 


WINTER.  123 

Another  helper  came  out  to  Scutari  in  those 
winter  days;  a  gallant  Frenchman,  M.  Soyer,  who 
had  been  for  years  chef  of  one  of  the  great  London 
clubs,  and  who  knew  all  that  there  was  to  know 
about  cookery.  He  read  the  Times,  and  in  Febru- 
ary, 1855,  he  wrote  to  the  editor: 

"  Sir  :  After  carefully  perusing  the  letter  of  your 
correspondent,  dated  Scutari.  ...  I  perceive  that, 
though  the  kitchen  under  the  superintendence  of 
Miss  Nightingale  affords  so  much  relief,  the  system 
of  management  at  the  large  one  in  the  Barrack 
Hospital  is  far  from  being  perfect.  I  propose  offer- 
ing my  services  gratuitously,  and  proceeding  direct 
to  Scutari  at  my  own  personal  expense,  to  regulate 
that  important  department,  if  the  Government  will 
honor  me  with  their  confidence,  and  grant  me  the 
full  power  of  acting  according  to  my  knowledge 
and  experience  in  such  matters." 

It  was  April  before  M.  Soyer  reached  Scutari. 
He  went  at  once  to  the  Barrack  Hospital,  asked  for 
Miss  Nightingale,  and  was  received  by  her  in  her 
office,  which  he  calls  "  a  sanctuary  of  benevolence." 
They  became  friends  at  once^  for  each  could  help 
the  other  and  greatly  desired  to  do  so. 


124  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

"  I  must  especially  express  my  gratitude  to  Miss 
Nightingale/'  says  the  good  gentleman  in  his  record 
of  the  time,  "  who  from  her  extraordinary  intelli- 
gence and  the  good  organization  of  her  kitchen  pro- 
cured me  every  material  for  making  a  commence- 
ment, and  thus  saved  me  at  least  one  week's  sheer 
loss  of  time,  as  my  model  kitchen  did  not  arrive 
until  Saturday  last." 

M.  Soyer,  on  his  side,  brought  all  kinds  of  things 
which  Miss  Nightingale  rejoiced  to  see :  new  stoves, 
new  kinds  of  fuel,  new  appliances  of  many  kinds 
which,  in  the  first  months  of  her  work,  she  could 
never  have  hoped  to  see.  He  was  full  of  energy, 
of  ingenuity,  and  a  fine  French  gayety  and  enthu- 
siasm which  must  have  been  delightful  to  all  the 
brave  and  weary  workers  in  the  City  of  Pain.  He 
went  everywhere,  saw  and  examined  everything; 
and  told  of  what  he  saw,  in  his  own  flowery,  fiery 
way.  He  told  among  other  things  how,  coming 
back  one  night  from  a  gay  evening  in  the  doctors' 
quarters,  he  was  making  his  way  through  the  hos- 
pital wards  to  his  own  room,  when,  as  he  turned 
the  corner  of  a  corridor,  he  came  upon  a  scene  which 
made  him  stop  and  hold  his  breath.    At  the  foot  of 


WINTER.  125 

one  cot  stood  a  nurse,  holding  a  lighted  lamp.  Its 
light  fell  on  the  sick  man,  who  lay  propped  on 
pillows,  gasping  for  breath,  and  evidently  near  his 
end.  He  was  speaking,  in  hoarse  and  broken  mur- 
murs ;  sitting  beside  him,  bending  near  to  catch  the 
painful  utterances,  was  the  Lady-in-Chief,  pencil  and 
paper  in  hand,  writing  down  the  words  as  he  spoke 
them.  Now  the  dying  man  fumbled  beneath  his 
pillow,  brought  out  a  watch  and  some  other  small 
objects,  and  laid  them  in  her  hand;  then  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  sank  back  content.  It  was  two  o'clock. 
Miss  Nightingale  had  been  on  her  feet,  very  likely, 
the  whole  day,  perhaps  had  not  even  closed  her  eyes 
in  sleep ;  but  word  was  brought  to  her  that  this  man 
was  given  up  by  the  doctors,  and  had  only  a  few 
hours  to  live ;  and  in  a  moment  she  was  by  his  side, 
to  speak  some  final  words  of  comfort,  and  to  take 
down  his  parting  message  to  wife  and  children. 

The  kind-hearted  Frenchman  never  forgot  this 
sight,  yet  it  was  one  that  might  be  seen  any  night  in 
the  Barrack  Hospital.  No  man  should  die  alone  and 
uncomforted  if  Florence  Nightingale  and  her  women 
could  help  it. 

This  is  how  M.  Soyer  describes  our  heroine: 


126  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

"  She  is  rather  high  in  stature,  fair  in  complexion 
and  sHm  in  person ;  her  hair  is  brown,  and  is  worn 
quite  plain ;  her  physiognomy  is  most  pleasing ;  her 
eyes,  of  a  bluish  tint,  speak  volumes,  and  are  always 
sparkling  with  intelligence ;  her  mouth  is  small  and 
well  formed,  while  her  lips  act  in  unison,  and  make 
known  the  impression  of  her  heart — one  seems  the 
reflex  of  the  other.  Her  visage,  as  regards  expres- 
sion, is  very  remarkable,  and  one  can  almost  antici- 
pate by  her  countenance  what  she  is  about  to  say; 
alternately,  with  matters  of  the  most  grave  import, 
a  gentle  smile  passes  radiantly  over  her  countenance, 
thus  proving  her  evenness  of  temper ;  at  other  times, 
when  wit  or  a  pleasantry  prevails,  the  heroine  is  lost 
in  the  happy,  good-natured  smile  which  pervades  her 
face,  and  you  recognize  only  the  charming  woman. 

"  Her  dress  is  generally  of  a  grayish  or  black  tint ; 
she  wears  a  simple  white  cap,  and  often  a  rough 
apron.  In  a  word,  her  whole  appearance  is  relig- 
iously simple  and  unsophisticated.  In  conversation 
no  member  of  the  fair  sex  can  be  more  amiable  and 
gentle  than  Miss  Nightingale.  Removed  from  her 
arduous  and  cavalierlike  duties,  which  require  the 
nerve  of  a  Hercules — and  she  possesses  it  when  re- 


WINTER.  127 

quired — she  is  Rachel  *  on  the  stage  in  both  tragedy 

\and  comedy." 

A  The  long  and  dreary  winter  was  over.  The  snow 
was  gone,  and  the  birds  sang  once  more  among  the 
cypresses  of  Scutari,  and  sunned  themselves,  and 
bathed  and  splashed  in  the  marble  basins  at  the  foot 
of  the  tombs;  but  there  was  no  abatement  of  the 
stream  that  crept  up  the  hill  to  the  hospital.  No 
frostbite  now — I  haven't  told  you  about  that,  be- 
cause it  is  too  dreadful  for  me  to  tell  or  for  you  to 
hear — but  no  less  sickness.  Cholera  was  raging  in 
the  camp  before  Sebastopol,  and  typhus,  and  dysen- 
tery; the  men  were  dying  like  flies.  The  dreaded 
typhus  crept  into  the  hospital  and  attacked  the  work- 
ers. Eight  of  the  doctors  were  stricken  down,  seven 
of  whom  died.  "  For  a  time  there  was  only  one 
medical  attendant  in  a  fit  state  of  health  to  wait 
on  the  sick  in  the  Barrack  Hospital,  and  his  serv- 
ices were  needed  in  twenty-four  wards." 

Next  three  of  the  devoted  nurses  were  taken,  two 
dying  of  fever,  the  third  of  cholera.     More  and 

*  Rachel  was  a  famous  French  actress,  but  I  cannot 
imagine  any  real  resemblance  between  her  and  Miss  Night- 
ingale. 


128  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

more  severe  grew  the  strain  of  work  and  anxiety  for 
Miss  Nightingale,  and  those  who  watched  her  with 
loving  anxiety  trembled.  So  fragile,  so  worn ;  such 
a  tremendous  weight  of  care  and  responsibility  on 
those  delicate  shoulders!  Is  she  not  paler  than 
usual  to-day  ?  What  would  become  of  us  if  she— — 
Their  fears  were  groundless;  the  time  was  not 
yet.  Tending  the  dying  physicians  as  she  had  tend- 
ed their  patients;  walking,  sad  but  steadfast,  be- 
hind the  bier  that  bore  her  dear  and  devoted  helpers 
to  the  grave;  adding  each  new  burden  to  the  rest, 
and  carrying  all  with  unbroken  calm,  unwearying 
patience;  Florence  Nightingale  seemed  to  bear  a 
charmed  life.  There  is  no  record  of  any  single  in- 
stance, through  that  terrible  winter  and  spring,  of 
her  being  unable  to  perform  the  duties  she  had 
taken  upon  her.  She  might  have  said  with  Sir  Gal- 
ahad : 

"  My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten 
Because  my  heart  is  pure." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

MISS     NIGHTINGALE     UNDER     FIRE. 

N  May,  1855,  Miss  Nightingale  decided 
to  go  to  the  Crimea,  to  inspect  the  hos- 
pitals there.  In  the  six  months  spent  at 
Scutari,  she  had  brought  its  hospitals 
into  excellent  condition ;  now  she  felt  that  she  must 
see  what  was  being  done  and  what  still  needed  to 
be  done  elsewhere.  Accordingly  she  set  sail  in  the 
ship  Robert  Lowe,  accompanied  by  her  faithful 
friend  Mr.  Bracebridge,  who,  with  his  admirable 
wife,  had  come  out  with  her  from  England,  and  had 
been  her  constant  helper  and  adviser;  M.  Soyer,  who 
was  going  to  see  how  kitchen  matters  were  going 
la-has,  and  her  devoted  boy  Thomas.  Thomas  had 
been  a  drummer  boy.  He  was  twelve  years  old, 
and  devoted  to  his  drum  until  he  came  under  the 
spell  of  the  Lady-in-Chief.  Then  he  transferred  his 
devotion  to  her,  and  became  her  aide-de-camp,  fol- 
lowing her  wherever  she  went,  and  ready  at  any  mo- 
ment to  give  his  life  for  her. 

129 


130  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

It  was  fair  spring  weather  now,  and  the  fresh, 
soft  air  and  beautiful  scenery  must  have  been  spe- 
cially delightful  to  the  women  who  had  spent  six 
months  within  the  four  bare  walls  of  the  hospital 
surrounded  by  misery  and  death;  but  when  she 
found  that  there  were  some  sick  soldiers  on  board, 
Miss  Nightingale  begged  to  be  taken  to  them.  She 
went  from  one  to  another  in  her  cheerful  way,  and 
every' man  felt  better  at  once.  Presently  she  came 
to  a  fever  patient  who  was  looking  very  discon- 
tented. 

"  This  man  will  not  take  his  medicine! "  said  the 
attendant. 

"  Why  will  you  not  take  it?  "  asked  Miss  Night- 
ingale, with  her  winning  smile. 

"  Because  I  took  some  once,"  said  the  man,  "  and 
it  made  me  sick,  and  I  haven't  liked  physic  ever 
since." 

"  But  if  I  give  it  to  you  myself  you  will  take  it, 
won't  you  ?  " 

I  wonder  if  anyone  ever  refused  Miss  Nightingale 
anything ! 

*' It  will  make  me  sick  just  the  same,  ma'am!" 
murmured  the  poor  soul  piteously;  but  he  took  the 


MISS   NIGHTINGALE   UNDER   FIRE.  131 

medicine,  and  forgot  to  be  sick  as  she  sat  beside  him 
and  asked  about  the  battle  in  which  he  had  been 
wounded. 

When  they  entered  the  harbor  of  Balaklava,  they 
found  all  the  vessels  crowded  with  people.  Word 
had  got  abroad  that  the  Lady-in-Chief  was  expected, 
and  everybody  was  agog  to  see  the  wonderful 
woman  who  had  done  such  a  great  work  in  the 
hospitals  of  Scutari.  The  vessel  was  no  sooner 
brought  to  anchor  than  all  the  doctors  and  officials 
of  Balaklava  came  on  board,  eager  to  pay  their  re- 
spects and  welcome  her  to  their  shore.  For  an  hour 
she  received  these  various  guests,  but  she  could  not 
wait  longer,  and  by  the  time  Lord  Raglan,  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief, reached  the  vessel  on  the  same  er- 
rand, she  had  already  begun  her  inspection  of  the 
hospital  on  shore.  She  never  had  any  time  to  waste, 
and  so  she  never  lost  any. 

But  the  visit  of  a  Commander-in-Chief  must  be 
returned ;  so  the  next  day  Miss  Nightingale  set  out 
on  horseback,  with  a  party  of  friends,  for  the  camp 
of  the  besiegers.  M.  Soyer,  who  was  of  the  party, 
tells  us  that  she  "  was  attired  simply  in  a  genteel 
amazone,  or  riding-habit,  and  had  quite  a  martial 


132  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

air.  She  was  mounted  upon  a  very  pretty  mare, 
of  a  golden  color,  which,  by  its  gambols  and  cara- 
coling, seemed  proud  to  carry  its  noble  charge.  The 
weather  was  very  fine.  Our  cavalcade  produced  an 
extraordinary  effect  upon  the  motley  crowd  of  all 
nations  assembled  at  Balaklava,  who  were  aston- 
ished at  seeing  a  lady  so  well  escorted." 

The  road  was  very  bad,  and  crowded  with  people 
of  every  nationality,  riding  horses,  mules  and  asses, 
driving  oxen  and  cows  and  sheep.  Now  they  passed 
a  cannon,  stuck  in  the  mud,  its  escort  prancing  and 
yelling  around  it ;  now  a  wagon  overturned,  its  con- 
tents scattered  on  the  road,  its  owner  sitting  on  the 
ground  lamenting.  Everywhere  horses  were  kick- 
ing and  whinnying,  men  shouting  and  screaming. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  Miss  Nightingale's  pretty  mare 
"  of  a  golden  color  "  got  excited  too,  and  kicked 
and  pranced  with  the  rest;  but  her  rider  had  not 
scampered  over  English  downs  and  jumped  English 
fences  for  nothing,  and  the  pretty  creature  soon 
found  that  she,  like  everyone  else,  must  obey  the 
Lady-in-Chief. 

The  first  hospital  they  came  to  was  in  the  village 
of  Kadikoi.     After  inspecting  it,  and  seeing  what 


MISS   NIGHTINGALE    UNDER   FIRE.  133 

was  needed,  Miss  Nightingale  and  her  party  rode 
to  the  top  of  a  hill  near  by;  and  here  for  the  first 
time  she  looked  down  on  the  actual  face  of  war; 
saw  the  white  tents  of  the  besiegers  and  in  the  dis- 
tance the  grim  walls  of  the  belbaguered  city;  saw, 
too,  the  puffs  of  white  smoke  from  trench  and  bas- 
tion, heard  the  roar  of  cannon  and  the  crackle  of 
musketry.  To  the  boy  beside  her  no  doubt  it  was 
a  splendid  and  inspiring  sight ;  but  Florence  Night- 
ingale knew  too  well  what  it  all  meant,  and  turned 
away  with  a  heavy  heart. 

Lord  Raglan,  not  having  been  warned  of  her 
coming,  was  away;  so,  after  visiting  several  small 
regimental  hospitals,  Miss  Nightingale  went  on  to 
the  General  Hospital  before  Sebastopol.  Here  she 
found  some  hundreds  of  sick  and  wounded.  Word 
passed  along  the  rows  of  cots  that  the  "  good  lady 
of  Scutari  "  was  coming  to  visit  them,  and  every- 
where she  was  greeted  with  beaming  smiles  and 
murmurs  of  greeting  and  welcome.  But  when  she 
came  out  again,  and  passed  along  toward  the  cook- 
ing encampment,  she  was  recognized  by  some  form- 
er patients  of  hers  at  the  Barrack  Hospital,  and  a 
great  shout  of  rejoicing  went  up;  a  shout  so  loud 


134  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

that  the  golden  mare  capered  again,  and  again  had 
to  learn  who  her  mistress  was. 

Now  they  approached  the  walls  of  Sebastopol; 
and  Miss  Nightingale,  who  did  not  know  what  fear 
was,  insisted  upon  having  a  nearer  view  of  the  city. 
They  came  to  a  point  from  which  it  could  be  con- 
veniently seen;  but  here  a  sentry  met  them,  and 
with  a  face  of  alarm  begged  them  to  dismount. 
"  Sharp  firing  going  on  here,"  he  said,  and  he  point- 
ed to  the  fragments  of  shell  lying  about ;  "  you'll 
be  sure  to  attract  attention,  and  they'll  fire  at 
you." 

Miss  Nightingale  laughed  at  his  fears,  but  con- 
sented to  take  shelter  behind  a  stone  redoubt,  from 
which,  with  the  aid  of  a  telescope,  she  had  a  good 
view  of  the  city. 

But  this  was  not  enough.  She  must  go  into 
the  trenches  themselves.  The  sentry  was  horrified. 
"  Madam,"  said  he,  "  if  anything  happens  I  call 
upon  these  gentlemen  to  witness  that  I  did  not  fail 
to  warn  you  of  the  danger." 

"  My  good  young  man,"  replied  Miss  Night- 
ingale, "  more  dead  and  wounded  have  passed 
through  my  hands  than  I  hope  you  will  ever  see  in 


MISS   NIGHTINGALE   UNDER   FIRE.        135 

the  battlefield  during-  the  whole  of  your  military 
career;  believe  me,  I  have  no  fear  of  death." 

They  went  on^  and  soon  reached  the  Three-Mor- 
tar Battery,  situated  among  the  trenches  and  very 
near  the  walls.  And  here  M.  Soyer  had  a  great 
idea,  which  he  carried  out  to  his  immense  satisfac- 
tion.   You  shall  hear  about  it  in  his  own  words : 

"  Before  leaving  the  battery,  I  begged  Miss 
Nightingale  as  a  favor  to  give  me  her  hand,  which 
she  did.  I  then  requested  her  to  ascend  the  stone 
rampart  next  the  wooden  gun  carriage,  and  lastly 
to  sit  upon  the  centre  mortar,  to  which  requests  she 
very  gracefully  and  kindly  acceded.  '  Gentlemen,* 
I  cried,  *  behold  this  amiable  lady  sitting  fearlessly 
upon  that  terrible  instrument  of  war!  Behold  the 
heroic  daughter  of  England — the  soldier*s  friend ! ' 
All  present  shouted  *  Bravo !  hurrah !  hurrah !  Long 
live  the  daughter  of  England ! ' '' 

When  Lord  Raglan  heard  of  this,  he  said  that 
the  "  instrument  of  war  "  on  which  she  sat  ought 
to  be  called  *'  the  Nightingale  mortar." 

The  39th  regiment  was  stationed  close  by;  and 

seeing  a  lady — a  strange  enough  sight  in  that  place 

— seated  on  a  mortar,  gazing  calmly  about  her,  as 
10 


136  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

if  all  her  life  had  been  spent  in  the  trenches,  the 
soldiers  looked  closer,  and  all  at  once  recognized 
the  beloved  Lady-in-Chief,  the  Angel  of  the  Crimea. 
They  set  up  a  shout  that  went  ringing  over  the  fields 
and  trenches,  and  startled  the  Russians  behind  the 
walls  of  Sebastopol ;  and  Miss  Nightingale,  startled 
too,  but  greatly  touched  and  moved,  came  down 
from  her  mortar  and  mounted  her  horse  to  ride  back 
to  Balaklava. 

It  was  a  rough  and  fatiguing  ride,  and  the  next 
day  she  felt  very  tired;  but  she  was  used  to  being 
tired,  and  never  thought  much  of  itj  so  she  set  out 
to  visit  the  General  Hospital  again.  After  spending 
several  hours  there,  she  went  on  to  the  Sanatorium, 
a  collection  of  huts  high  up  on  a  mountainside, 
nearly  eight  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  The  sun 
was  intensely  hot,  the  ride  a  hard  one;  yet  she  not 
only  reached  it  this  day,  but  went  up  again  the  day 
after,  to  install  three  much-needed  nurses  there ;  this 
done,  she  went  on  with  her  work  in  the  hospitals  of 
Balaklava.  But,  alas!  this  time  she  had  gone  be- 
yond even  her  strength.  She  was  stricken  down 
suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  her  work,  with  the  worst 
form  of  Crimean  fever. 


MISS   NIGHTINGALE    UNDER   FIRE.  137 

The  doctors  ordered  that  she  should  be  taken  to 
the  Sanatorium.  Amid  general  grief  and  consterna- 
tion she  was  laid  on  a  stretcher^  and  the  soldiers  for 
whom  she  had  so  often  risked  her  life  bore  her  sadly 
through  the  streets  of  Balaklava  and  up  the  moun- 
tainside. A  nurse  went  with  her,  a  friend  held  a 
white  umbrella  between  her  and  the  pitiless  sun, 
and  poor  little  Thomas,  "  Miss  Nightingale's  man  '* 
as  he  had  proudly  called  himself,  followed  the 
stretcher,  crying  bitterly.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if 
everyone  were  crying.  The  rough  soldiers — only 
she  never  found  them  rough — ^wept  like  children. 
It  was  a  sad  little  procession  that  wound  its  way  up 
the  height,  to  the  hut  that  had  been  set  apart  for  the 
beloved  sufferer.  It  was  a  neat,  airy  cabin,  set  on 
the  banks  of  a  clear  stream.  All  about  were  spring 
buds  and  blossoms,  and  green,  whispering  trees;  it 
was  just  such  a  place  as  she  would  have  chosen  for 
one  of  her  own  patients ;  and  here,  for  several  days, 
she  lay  between  life  and  death. 

The  news  spread  everywhere;  Florence  Night- 
ingale was  ill — was  dying !  All  Balaklava  knew  it ; 
soon  the  tidings  came  to  Scutari,  to  her  own  hos- 
pital, and  the  sick  men  turned  their  faces  to  the  wall 


138  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

and  wept,  and  longed  to  give  their  own  lives  for 
hers,  if  only  that  might  be.  The  news  came  to  Eng- 
land, and  men  looked  and  spoke — ay,  and  felt — as 
if  some  great  national  calamity  threatened.  But 
soon  the  messages  changed  their  tone.  The  disease 
was  checked;  she  was  better;  she  was  actually  re- 
covering, and  would  soon  be  well.  Then  all  the 
Crimea  rejoiced,  and  at  Scutari  they  felt  that  spring 
had  come  indeed. 

While  she  still  lay  desperately  ill,  a  visitor  climbed 
the  rugged  height  to  the  Sanatorium,  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  little  lonely  hut.  I  think  you  must 
hear  about  this  visit  from  Mrs.  Roberts,  the  nurse 
who  told  M.  Soyer  about  it : 

"  It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
he  came.  Miss  Nightingale  was  dozing,  after  a 
very  restless  night.  We  had  a  storm  that  day,  and 
it  was  very  wet.  I  was  in  my  room  sewing  when 
two  men  on  horseback,  wrapped  in  large  guttapercha 
cloaks  and  dripping  wet,  knocked  at  the  door.  I 
went  out,  and  one  inquired  in  which  hut  Miss  Night- 
ingale resided. 

"  He  spoke  so  loud  that  I  said :  '  Hist !  hist !  don't 
make  such  a  horrible  noise  as  that,  my  man,'  at  the 


MISS   NIGHTINGALE   UNDER   FIRE.  139 

same  time  making  a  sign  with  both  hands  for 
him  to  be  quiet.  He  then  repeated  his  question, 
but  not  in  so  loud  a  tone.  I  told  him  this  was  the 
hut. 

"  *  All  right/  said  he,  jumping  from  his  horse; 
and  he  was  walking  straight  in  when  I  pushed  him 
back,  asking  what  he  meant  and  whom  he  wanted. 

*'  *  Miss  Nightingale,'  said  he. 

"  *  And  pray  who  are  you  ?  ' 

"  *  Oh,  only  a  soldier,'  was  the  reply,  *  but  I  must 
see  her — I  have  come  a  long  way — my  name  is 
Raglan — she  knows  me  very  well.' 

"  Miss  Nightingale  overhearing  him,  called  me 
in,  saying :  '  Oh !  Mrs.  Roberts,  it  is  Lord  Raglan. 
Pray  tell  him  I  have  a  very  bad  fever,  and  it  will 
be  dangerous  for  him  to  come  near  me.' 

"  *  I  have  no  fear  of  fever  or  anything  else,'  said 
Lord  Raglan. 

"  And  before  I  had  time  to  turn  round,  in  came 
his  lordship.  He  took  up  a  stool,  sat  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  kindly  asked  Miss  Nightingale 
how  she  was,  expressing  his  sorrow  at  her  illness, 
and  praising  her  for  the  good  she  had  done  for  the 
troops.      He  wished  her  a   speedy  recovery,   and 


I40  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

hoped  she  might  be  able  to  continue  her  charitable 
and  invaluable  exertions,  so  highly  appreciated  by 
everyone,  as  well  as  by  himself.  He  then  bade  Miss 
Nightingale  goodbye,  and  went  away.  .  .  ." 

After  twelve  days  Miss  Nightingale  was  pro- 
nounced convalescent.  The  doctors  now  earnestly 
begged  her  to  return  to  England,  telling  her  that 
her  health  absolutely  required  a  long  rest,  with  en- 
tire freedom  from  care.  But  she  shook  her  head 
resolutely.  Her  work  was  not  yet  over;  she  would 
not  desert  her  post.  Weak  as  she  was,  she  insisted 
on  being  taken  back  to  Scutari;  she  would  come 
back  by  and  by,  she  said,  and  finish  the  work  in  the 
Crimea  itself.  Sick  or  well,  there  was  no  resisting 
the  Lady-in-Chief .  The  stretcher  was  brought  again, 
and  eight  soldiers  carried  her  down  the  mountain- 
side and  so  down  to  the  port  of  Balaklava.  The 
Jura  lay  at  the  wharf ;  a  tackle  was  rigged,  and  the 
stretcher  hoisted  on  board,  the  patient  lying  mo- 
tionless but  undaunted  the  while;  but  this  vessel 
proved  unsuitable,  and  she  had  to  be  moved  twice 
before  she  was  finally  established  on  a  private  yacht, 
the  New  London. 

Before  she  sailed,  Lord  Raglan  came  to  see  her 


-MISS   NIGHTINGALE   UNDER   FIRE.  141 

again.  It  was  the  last  time  they  ever  met,  for  a 
few  weeks  after  the  brave  commander  died,  worn 
out  by  the  struggles  and  privations  of  the  war,  and 
— some  thought — broken-hearted  by  the  disastrous 
repulse  of  the  British  troops  at  the  Redan. 

Rather  more  than  a  month  after  she  had  left  for 
the  Crimea,  Miss  Nightingale  saw  once  more  the 
towers  and  minarets  of  Constantinople  flashing 
across  the  Black-Sea  water,  and,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  narrow  Bosporus,  the  gaunt  white  w^alls 
which  had  come  to  seem  almost  homelike  to  her. 
She  was  glad  to  get  back  to  her  Scutari  and  her 
people.  She  knew  she  should  get  well  here,  and  so 
she  did. 

The  welcome  she  received  was  most  touching. 
All  the  great  people,  commanders  and  high  author- 
ities, met  her  at  the  pier,  and  offered  her  their 
houses,  their  carriages,  everything  they  had,  to  help 
her  back  to  strength ;  but  far  dearer  to  her  than  this 
were  the  glances  of  weary  eyes  that  brightened  at 
her  coming,  the  waving  of  feeble  hands,  the  cheers 
of  feeble  voices,  from  the  invalid  soldiers  who,  like 
herself,  were  creeping  back  from  death  to  life,  and 
who  felt,  very  likely,  that  their  chance  of  full  re- 


142  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

covery  was  a  far  better  one  now  that  their  angel 
had  come  back  to  dwell  among  them. 

As  strength  returned,  Miss  Nightingale  loved  to 
walk  in  the  great  burying  ground  of  which  I  have 
told  you ;  to  rest  under  the  cypress  trees,  and  watch 
the  little  birds,  and  pick  wild  flowers  in  that  lovely, 
lonely  place.  There  are  strange  stories  about  the 
birds  of  Scutari,  by  the  way;  the  Turks  believe 
that  they  are  the  souls  of  sinners,  forced  to  flit  and 
hover  forever,  without  rest;  but  it  is  not  likely  that 
thoughts  of  this  kind  troubled  Miss  Nightingale,  as 
she  watched  the  pretty  creatures  taking  their  bath, 
or  pecking  at  the  crumbs  she  scattered. 

Birds  and  flowers,  green  trees  and  soft,  sweet  air 
— all  these  things  ministered  to  her,  and  helped  her 
on  the  upward  road  to  health  and  strength ;  and  be- 
fore long  she  was  able  to  take  up  again  the  work 
which  she  loved,  and  which  was  waiting  for  her 
hand. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE     CLOSE     OF     THE     WAR. 

HE  sun  soared  over  the  gulf,  where  the 
water,  covered  with  ships  at  anchor,  and 
with  sail-  and  row-boats  in  motion, 
played  merrily  in  its  warm  and  luminous 
rays.  A  light  breeze,  which  scarcely  shook  the 
leaves  of  the  stunted  oak  bushes  that  grew  beside 
the  signal  station,  filled  the  sails  of  the  boats,  and 
made  the  waves  ripple  softly.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  gulf  Sebastopol  was  visible,  unchanged,  with  its 
unfinished  church,  its  column,  its  quay,  the  boule- 
vard which  cut  the  hill  with  a  green  band,  the  ele- 
gant library  building,  its  little  lakes  of  azure  blue, 
with  their  forests  of  masts,  its  picturesque  aqueducts, 
and,  above  all  that,  clouds  of  a  bluish  tint,  formed 
by  powder  smoke,  lighted  up  from  time  to  time  by 
the  red  flame  of  the  firing.  It  was  the  same  proud 
and  beautiful  Sebastopol,  with  its  festal  air,  sur- 
rounded on  one  side  by  the  yellow  smoke-crowned 
hills,  on  the  other  by  the  sea,  deep  blue  in  color  and 

143 


144  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Sparkling  brilliantly  in  the  sun.  At  the  horizon, 
where  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  traced  a  black  line, 
white,  narrow  clouds  were  rising,  precursors  of  a 
wind.  Along  the  whole  line  of  the  fortifications, 
along  the  heights,  especially  on  the  left  side,  spurted 
out  suddenly,  torn  by  a  visible  flash,  although  it  was 
broad  daylight,  plumes  of  thick  white  smoke,  which, 
assuming  various  forms,  extended,  rose,  and  colored 
the  sky  with  sombre  tints.  These  jets  of  smoke 
came  out  on  all  sides — from  the  hills,  from  the  hos- 
tile batteries,  from  the  city — and  flew  toward  the 
sky.  The  noise  of  the  explosions  shook  the  air  with 
a  continuous  roar.  Toward  noon  these  smoke  puffs 
became  rarer  and  rarer,  and  the  vibrations  of  the  air 
strata  became  less  frequent. 

*'  *  Do  you  know  that  the  second  bastion  is  no 
longer  replying  ? '  said  the  hussar  officer  on  horse- 
back, *  it  is  entirely  demolished.    It  is  terrible ! ' 

"  *  Yes,  and  the  Malakoff  replies  twice  out  of  three 
times,'  answered  the  one  who  was  looking  through 
the  field-glass.  *  This  silence  is  driving  me  mad ! 
They  are  firing  straight  on  the  Korniloff  battery  and 
that  is  not  replying.' 

"  *  There  is  a  movement  in  the  trenches ;  they  are 
marching  in  close  columns.' 

"  '  Yes,  I  see  it  well,'  said  one  of  the  sailors ; '  they 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  145 

are  advancing  by  columns.  We  must  set  the  sig- 
nal/ 

"  *  But  see,  there — see !  They  are  coming  out  of 
the  trenches ! ' 

"  They  could  see,  in  fact,  with  the  naked  eye  black 
spots  going  down  from  the  hill  into  the  ravine,  and 
proceeding  from  the  French  batteries  toward  our 
bastions.  In  the  foreground,  in  front  of  the  former, 
black  spots  could  be  seen  very  near  our  lines.  Sud- 
denly, from  different  points  of  the  bastion  at  the 
same  time,  spurted  out  the  white  plumes  of  the  dis- 
charges, and,  thanks  to  the  wind,  the  noise  of  a 
lively  fusillade  could  be  heard,  like  the  patter  of  a 
heavy  rain  against  the  windows.  The  black  lines 
advanced,  wrapped  in  a  curtain  of  smoke,  and  came 
nearer.  The  fusillade  increased  in  violence.  The 
smoke  burst  out  at  shorter  and  shorter  intervals, 
extended  rapidly  along  the  line  in  a  single  light,  lilac- 
colored  cloud,  unrolling  and  enlarging  itself  by 
turns,  furrowed  here  and  there  by  flashes  or  rent  by 
black  points.  All  the  noises  mingled  together  in  the 
\  tumult  of  one  continued  roar. 

"  *  It  is  an  assault,'  said  the  officer,  pale  with  emo- 
tion, handing  his  glass  to  the  sailor. 

"  Cossacks  and  officers  on  horseback  went  along 
the  road,  preceding  the  commander-in-chief  in  his 


146  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

carriage,  accompanied  by  his  suite.  Their  faces  ex- 
pressed the  painful  emotion  of  expectation. 

"  '  It  is  impossible  that  it  is  taken ! '  said  the  offi- 
cer on  horseback. 

"  *  God  in  heaven — the  flag !  Look  now ! '  cried 
the  other,  choked  by  emotion,  turning  away  from 
the  glass.  *  The  French  flag  is  in  the  Malakoff 
mamelon ! '  " 

It  is  thus  that  Tolstoi,  the  great  Russian  writer, 
describes  the  fall  of  Sebastopol,  as  he  saw  it.  At 
the  same  moment  that  the  French  were  taking  the 
Malakoff  redoubt,  the  British  were  storming  the 
Redan,  from  which  they  had  been  so  disastrously  re- 
pulsed three  months  before.  The  flags  of  the  allied 
armies  floated  over  both  forts,  and  in  the  night  that 
followed  the  Russians  marched  silently  out  of  the 
fallen  city,  leaving  flames  and  desolation  behind 
them. 

The  war  was  over.  The  good  news  sped  to  Eng- 
land, and  the  great  guns  of  the  Tower  of  London 
thundered  out  "  Victory !  " 

"  Victory !  "  answered  every  arsenal  the  country 
over.     "  Victory !  "  rang  the  bells  in  every  village 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  147 

steeple.  "  Victory !  '*  cried  man,  woman,  and  child 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  But 
mingled  with  the  shouts  of  rejoicing  was  a  deeper 
note,  one  of  thankfulness  that  the  cruel  war  was 
done,  and  peace  come  at  last. 

In  these  happy  days  Miss  Nightingale's  name  was 
on  all  lips.  What  did  not  England  owe  to  her,  the 
heroic  woman  who  had  offered  her  life,  and  had  all 
but  lost  it,  for  the  soldiers  of  her  country?  What 
should  England  do  to  show  her  gratitude?  People 
were  on  fire  to  do  something,  make  some  return 
to  Florence  Nightingale  for  her  devoted  services. 
From  the  Queen  to  the  cottager,  all  were  asking: 
"What  shall  we  do  for  her?" 

It  was  decided  to  consult  her  friends,  the  Sidney 
Herberts,  as  to  the  shape  that  a  testimonial  of  the 
country's  love  and  gratitude  should  take  in  order 
to  be  acceptable  to  Miss  Nightingale.  Mrs.  Her- 
bert, being  asked,  replied :  "  There  is  but  one  tes- 
timonial which  would  be  accepted  by  Miss  Night- 
ingale. The  one  wish  of  her  heart  has  long  been  to 
found  a  hospital  in  London  and  to  work  it  on  her 
own  system  of  unpaid  nursing,  and  I  have  suggest- 
ed to  all  who  have  asked  my  advice  in  this  matter 


148  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

to  pay  any  sums  that  they  may  feel  disposed  to  give, 
or  that  they  may  be  able  to  collect,  into  Messrs. 
Coutts'  Bank,  where  a  subscription  list  for  the  pur- 
pose is  about  to  be  opened,  to  be  called  the  *  Night- 
ingale Hospital  Fund,'  the  sum  subscribed  to  be 
presented  to  her  on  her  return  home,  which  will  en- 
able her  to  carry  out  her  object  regarding  the  re- 
form of  the  nursing  system  in  England." 

Here  was  something  definite  indeed.  A  ccnnmit- 
tee  was  instantly  formed — a  wonderful  committee, 
with  "  three  dukes,  nine  other  noblemen,  the  Lord 
Mayor,  two  judges,  five  right  honorables,  foremost 
naval  and  military  oi^cers,  physicians,  lawyers,  Loa- 
don  aldermen,  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  dignitaries 
of  nonconformist  churches,  twenty  members  of  Par- 
liament, and  several  eminent  men  of  letters  "  * ;  and 
the  subscription  was  opened.  How  the  money  came 
pouring  in !  You  would  think  no  one  had  ever  spent 
money  before.  The  rich  gave  their  thousands,  the 
poor  their  pennies.  There  were  fairs  and  concerts 
and  entertainments  of  every  description,  to  swell  the 
Nightingale  fund;  but  the  offering  that  must  have 

*  Tooley,  "Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  220. 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  149 

touched  Miss  Nightingale's  heart  most  deeply  was 
that  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors  of  England.  "  The 
officers  and  men  of  nearly  every  regiment  and  many 
of  the  vessels  contributed  a  day's  pay."  *  That 
meant  more  to  her,  I  vi^arrant,  than  any  rich  man's 
thousands. 

Before  a  year  had  passed,  the  fund  amounted  to 
over  forty  thousand  pounds ;  and  there  is  no  know- 
ing how  much  higher  it  might  have  gone  had  not 
Miss  Nightingale  herself  come  home  and  stopped  it. 

That  was  enough,  she  said ;  if  they  wanted  to  give 
more  money,  they  might  give  it  to  the  sufferers 
from  the  floods  in  France. 

But  she  did  not  come  home  at  once;  no  indeed! 
The  war  might  be  over,  but  her  work  was  not,  and 
she  would  never  leave  it  while  anything  remained 
undone.  The  war  was  over,  but  the  hospitals,  es- 
pecially those  of  the  Crimea  itself,  were  still  filled 
with  sick  and  wounded  soldiers,  and  until  the  formal 
peace  was  signed  an  "  army  of  occupation  "  must 
still  remain  in  the  Crimea.  Miss  Nightingale  knew 
well  that  idleness  is  the  worst  possible  thing  for 

*  Tooley,  "  Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  223, 


150  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

soldiers  (as  for  everyone)  ;  and  while  she  cared  for 
the  sick  and  wounded,  she  took  as  much  pains  to 
provide  empIo3Tiient  and  amusement  for  the  rest. 
As  soon  as  she  had  fully  regained  her  strength,  she 
returned  to  the  Crimea  as  she  had  promised  to  do, 
set  up  two  new  camp  hospitals,  and  established  a 
staff  of  nurses,  taking  the  charge  of  the  whole  nurs- 
ing department  upon  herself.  These  new  hospitals 
were  on  the  heights  above  Balaklava,  not  far  from 
where  she  had  passed  the  days  of  her  own  desperate 
illness.  She  established  herself  in  a  hut  close  by  the 
hospitals  and  the  Sanatorium,  and  here  she  spent  a 
second  winter  of  hard  work  and  exposure.  It  was 
bitter  cold  up  there  on  the  mountainside.  The  hut 
was  not  weather-proof,  and  they  sometimes  found 
their  beds  covered  with  snow  in  the  morning;  but 
they  did  not  mind  trifles  like  this. 

"  The  sisters  are  all  quite  well  and  cheerful," 
writes  Miss  Nightingale ;  "  thank  God  for  it !  They 
have  made  their  hut  look  quite  tidy,  and  put  up  with 
the  cold  and  inconveniences  with  the  utmost  self- 
abnegation.  Everything,  even  the  ink,  freezes  in 
our  hut  every  night." 

In  all  weathers  she  rode  or  drove  over  the  rough 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  151 

and  perilous  roads,  often  at  great  risk  of  life  and 
limb.  Her  carriage  being  upset  one  day,  and  she 
and  her  attendant  nurse  injured,  a  friend  had  a 
carriage  made  on  purpose  for  her,  to  be  at  once 
secure  and  comfortable. 

It  was  "composed  of  wood  battens  framed  on  the 
outside  and  basketwork.  In  the  interior  it  is  lined 
with  a  sort  of  waterproof  canvas.  It  has  a  fixed 
head  on  the  hind  part  and  a  canopy  running  the  full 
length,  with  curtains  at  the  side  to  inclose  the  in- 
terior. The  front  driving  seat  removes,  and  thus 
the  whole  forms  a  sort  of  small  tilted  wagon  with 
a  welted  frame,  suspended  on  the  back  part  on  which 
to  recline,  and  well  padded  round  the  sides.  It  is 
fitted  with  patent  breaks  to  the  hind  wheels  so  as 
to  let  it  go  gently  down  the  steep  hills  of  the  Turk- 
ish roads."  * 

This  curious  carriage  is  still  preserved  at  Lea 
Hurst.  Miss  Nightingale  left  it  behind  her  when 
she  returned  to  England,  and  it  was  about  to  be 
sold,  with  other  abandoned  articles,  when  our  good 
friend  M.  Soyer  heard  of  it ;  he  instantly  bought  it, 
sent  it  to  England,  and  afterwards  had  the  pleas- 

*  Tooley,  "Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  229. 
11 


152  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE, 

ure  of  restoring  it  to  its  owner.  She  must  have 
been  amused,  I  think,  but  no  doubt  she  was  pleased, 
too,  at  the  kindly  thought. 

But  this  comfortable  carriage  only  increased  her 
labors,  in  one  way,  for  with  it  she  went  about  more 
than  ever.  No  weather  was  too  severe,  no  snow- 
storm too  furious,  to  keep  her  indoors;  the  men 
needed  her  and  she  must  go  to  them.  "  She  was 
known  to  stand  for  hours  at  the  top  of  a  bleak 
rocky  mountain  near  the  hospitals,  giving  her  in- 
structions while  the  snow  was  falling  heavily.  Then 
in  the  bleak  dark  night  she  would  return  down  the 
perilous  mountain  road  with  no  escort  save  the 
driver."  * 

It  was  not  only  for  the  invalids  that  Miss  Night- 
ingale toiled  through  this  second  winter;  much  of 
her  time  was  given  to  the  convalescents  and  those 
who  were  on  active  duty.  She  established  libraries, 
and  little  "  reading  huts,"  where  the  men  could 
come  and  find  the  English  magazines  and  papers, 
and  a  stock  of  cheerful,  entertaining  books,  carefully 
chosen  by  the  dear  lady  who  knew  so  well  what 
they  liked.    She  got  up  lectures,  too,  and  classes  for 

*  Tooley,  "Life  of  Florence  Nightingale,"  pp.  2jx-~;^2. 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  153 

those  who  wished  to  study  this  or  that  branch  of 
learning;  and  she  helped  to  establish  a  cafe  at  Ink- 
erman,  where  the  men  could  get  hot  coffee  and 
chocolate  and  the  like  in  the  bitter  winter  weather. 
There  really  seems  no  end  to  the  good  and  kind  and 
lovely  things  she  did.  I  must  not  forget  one  thing, 
which  may  seem  small  to  some  of  you,  but  which 
was  truly  great  in  the  amount  of  good  that  came 
from  it.  Ever  since  she  first  came  out  to  Scutari, 
she  had  used  all  her  influence  to  persuade  the  sol- 
diers to  write  home  regularly  to  their  families.  The 
sick  lads  in  the  hospital  learned  that  if  they  would 
write  a  letter — just  two  or  three  lines,  to  tell  mother 
or  sister  that  they  were  alive  and  doing  well — and 
would  send  it  to  the  Lady-in-Chief,  she  would  put 
a  stamp  on  it  and  speed  it  on  its  way.  So  now,  in 
all  the  little  libraries  and  reading  huts,  there  were 
pens,  ink  and  paper,  envelopes  and  stamps;  and 
when  Miss  Nightingale  looked  in  at  one  of  these 
cheerful  little  gathering  places,  we  may  be  sure  that 
she  asked  Jim  or  Joe  whether  he  had  written  to  his 
mother  this  week,  and  bade  him  be  sure  not  to 
forget  it.  Does  this  seem  to  you  a  small  thing? 
,Wait  till  you  go  away  from  home,  and  see  what 


154  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

the  letters  that  come  from  home  mean  to  you ;  then 
multiply  that  by  ten,  and  you  will  know  partly,  but 
not  entirely,  what  your  letters  mean  to  those  at  home. 
It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  this  was  a  very 
bright  star  in  Miss  Nightingale's  crown  of  glory. 

The  soldier's  wife  and  child,  mother  and  sister, 
were  always  in  her  thoughts.  Not  only  did  she 
persuade  the  men  to  write  home,  but  she  used  all 
her  great  influence  to  induce  them  to  send  home 
their  pay  to  their  families.  At  Scutari  she  had  a 
money-order  office  of  her  own,  and  four  afternoons 
in  each  month  she  devoted  to  receiving  money  from 
the  soldiers  who  brought  it  to  her,  and  forwarding 
it  to  England.  It  is  estimated  that  about  a  thou- 
sand pounds  was  sent  each  month,  in  small  sums  of 
twenty  or  thirty  shillings.  "  This  money,"  says 
Miss  Nightingale,  "  was  literally  so  much  rescued 
from  the  canteen  and  drunkenness." 

After  the  fall  of  Sebastopol  the  British  Govern- 
ment followed  her  example,  and  set  up  money- 
order  offices  in  several  places,  with  excellent  results. 

Sometimes  it  was  Miss  Nightingale  herself  who 
wrote  home  to  the  soldier's  family;  sad,  sweet  let- 
ters, telling  how  the  husband  or  father  had  done  his 


THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   WAR.  155 

duty  gallantly,  and  had  died  as  a  brave  man  should ; 
giving  his  last  messages,  and  inclosing  the  memen- 
tos he  had  left  for  them.  To  many  a  humble  home 
these  letters  brought  comfort  and  support  in  the 
hour  of  trial^  and  were  treasured — are  no  doubt 
treasured  to  this  day — like  the  relics  of  a  blessed 
saint. 

The  Treaty  of  Peace  was  signed  at  Paris  on 
March  30,  1856,  and  now  all  hearts  in  the  Crimea 
turned  toward  home.  One  by  one  the  hospitals  were 
closed,  as  their  inmates  recovered  strength;  one  by 
one  the  troopships  were  filled  with  soldiers — rag- 
ged, gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  yet  gay  and  light-hearted 
as  schoolboys — and  started  on  the  homeward  voy- 
age; yet  still  the  Lady-in-Chief  lingered.  Not 
while  one  sick  man  remained  would  Florence  Night- 
ingale leave  her  post.  Indeed^  at  the  last  moment 
she  found  a  task  that  none  but  herself  might  have 
taken  up.  The  troopships  were  gone;  but  here,  on 
the  camping  ground  before  Sebastopol,  were  fifty 
or  sixty  poor  women,  left  behind  when  their  hus- 
bands' regiments  had  sailed,  helpless  and — I  was 
going  to  say  friendless,  but  nothing  could  be  more 

untrue ;  for  they  gathered  in  their  distress  round  the 
12 


156  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

hut  of  the  Ladv-in-Chief ,  imploring  her  aid ;  and  she 
soon  had  them  on  board  a  British  ship,  speeding^ 
home  after  the  rest. 

And  now  the  end  had  come,  and  there  was  only- 
one  more  thing  to  do,  one  more  order  to  give ;  the 
result  of  that  last  order  is  seen  to-day  by  all  who 
visit  that  far-away  land  of  the  Crimea.  On  the 
mountain  heights  above  Balaklava,  on  a  peak  not 
far  from  the  Sanatorium  where  she  labored  and 
suffered,  towers  a  great  cross  of  white  marble,  shin- 
ing like  snow  against  the  deep  blue  sky.  This  is  the 
"  Nightingale  Cross,''  her  own  tribute  to  the  brave 
men  and  the  devoted  nurses  who  died  in  the  war. 
At  the  foot  of  the  cross  are  these  words : 

"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us." 

To  every  Englishman — nay,  to  everyone  of  any 
race  who  loves  noble  thoughts  and  noble  deeds — 
this  monument  will  always  be  a  sacred  and  a  ven- 
erable one. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year,  Lord  Ellesmere,  speak- 
ing before  Parliament,  said : 

"  My  Lords,  the  agony  of  that  time  has  become 
a  matter  of  history.     The  vegetation  of  two  sue- 


THE   CLOSE  OF  THE  WAR.  157 

cessive  springs  has  obscured  the  vestiges  of  Bala- 
klava  and  of  Inkerman.  Strong  voices  now  answer 
to  the  roll  call,  and  sturdy  forms  now  cluster  round 
the  colors.  The  ranks  are  full,  the  hospitals  are 
empty.  The  angel  of  mercy  still  lingers  to  the  last 
on  the  scene  of  her  labors;  but  her  mission  is  all 
but  accomplished.  Those  long  arcades  of  Scutari, 
in  which  dying  men  sat  up  to  catch  the  sound  of  her 
footstep  or  the  flutter  of  her  dress,  and  fell  back 
on  the  pillow  content  to  have  seen  her  shadow  as  it 
passed,  are  now  comparatively  deserted.  She  may 
be  thinking  how  to  escape,  as  best  she  may,  on 
her  return,  the  demonstration  of  a  nation's  appre- 
ciation of  the  deeds  and  motives  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale." 

This  was  precisely  what  the  Lady-in-Chief  was 
thinking.  She  meant  to  return  to  England  as  quiet- 
ly as  she  left  it;  and  she  succeeded.  The  British 
Government  begged  her  to  accept  a  man-of-war  as 
her  own  for  the  time  being;  she  was  much  obhged, 
but  would  rather  not.  She  went  over  to  Scutari, 
saw  the  final  closing  of  the  hospitals  there,  and  took 
a  silent  farewell  of  that  place  of  many  memories; 
then  stepped  quietly  on  board  a  French  vessel,  and 


158  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

sailed  for  France.  A  few  days  later — so  the  story 
goes — a  lady  quietly  dressed  in  black,  and  closely 
veiled,  entered  the  back  door  of  Lea  Hurst.  The 
old  butler  saw  the  intruder,  and  hastened  forward 
to  stop  her  way — and  it  was  "  Miss  Florence  I  " 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE     TASKS     OF     PEACE. 

OW,  the  people  of  England  had  been  on 
tiptoe  for  some  days  with  eagerness, 
waiting  to  welcome  the  heroine  of  the 
Crimea  back  to  her  native  shores.  They 
would  give  her  such  a  reception  as  no  one  had  ever 
yet  had  in  that  land  of  hospitality  and  welcomings. 
She  should  have  bells  and  cannon  and  bonfires,  pro- 
cessions and  deputations  and  addresses — she  should 
have  everything  that  anybody  could  think  of. 

When  they  found  that  their  heroine  had  slipped 
quietly  through  their  fingers,  as  it  were,  and  was 
back  in  her  own  peaceful  home  once  more,  people 
were  sadly  disappointed.  They  must  give  up  the 
cannon  and  the  bonfires;  but  at  least  they  might 
have  a  glimpse  of  her!  So  hundreds  of  people 
crowded  the  roads  and  lanes  about  Lea  Hurst,  wait- 
ing and  watching.  An  old  lady  living  at  the  park 
gate  told  Mrs.  Tooley :  "  I  remember  the  crowds  as 

159 


l6o  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

if  it  was  yesterday.  It  took  me  all  my  time  to  an- 
swer them.  Folks  came  in  carriages  and  on  foot, 
and  there  was  titled  people  among  them,  and  a  lot 
of  soldiers,  some  of  them  without  arms  and  legs, 
who  had  been  nursed  by  Miss  Florence  in  the  hos- 
pital, and  I  remember  one  man  who  had  been  shot 
through  both  eyes  coming  and  asking  to  see  Miss 
Florence.  But  not  ten  out  of  the  hundreds  who 
came  got  a  glimpse  of  her.  If  they  wanted  help 
about  their  pensions,  they  were  told  to  put  it  down 
in  writing,  and  Miss  Florence's  maid  came  with  an 
answer.  Of  course  she  was  willing  to  help  every- 
body, but  it  stood  to  reason  she  could  not  receive 
them  all;  why,  the  park  wouldn't  have  held  all  the 
folks  that  came,  and  besides,  the  old  Squire  wouldn't 
have  his  daughter  made  a  staring  stock  of."  * 

After  the  first  disappointment — ^which  after  all 
was  perfectly  natural — all  sensible  people  realized 
how  weary  Miss  Nightingale  must  be  after  her 
tremendous  labors,  and  how  much  she  must  need 
rest.  All  who  knew  her,  too,  knew  that  she  never 
could  abide  public  "  demonstrations  " ;  so  they  left 
her  in  peace,  and  began  sending  her  things,  to  show 
*Tooley,  "Life of  Florence  Nightingale,"  p.  240. 


THE  TASKS   OF   PEACE.  ^        i6l 

their  gratitude  in  a  different  way.  The  first  gift  of 
this  kind  she  had  received  before  she  left  the  Crimea, 
from  good  Queen  Victoria  herself.  This  was  "  the 
Nightingale  Jewel/'  as  it  is  called ;  "  a  ruby-red 
enamel  cross  on  a  white  field,  encircled  by  a  black 
band  with  the  words :  '  Blessed  are  the  merciful.' 
The  letters  V.  R. ;  surmounted  by  a  crown  in  dia- 
monds, are  impressed  upon  the  centre  of  the  cross. 
Green  enamel  branches  of  palm,  tipped  with  gold, 
form  the  framework  of  the  shield,  while  around 
their  stems  is  a  riband  of  blue  enamel,  with  the 
single  word  *  Crimea.'  On  the  top  are  three  brilliant 
stars  of  diamonds.  On  the  back  is  an  inscription 
written  by  the  Queen." 

Another  gift  received  on  the  scene  of  her  labors 
was  a  magnificent  diamond  bracelet  sent  her  by  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey. 

I  do  not  know  of  any  more  jewels;  but  two  gifts 
that  Miss  Nightingale  prized  highly  were  a  fine 
case  of  cutlery  sent  her  by  the  workmen  of  Sheffield, 
each  knife  blade  inscribed  with  the  words  *'  Present- 
ed to  Florence  Nightingale,  1857,"  and  the  silver- 
bound  oak  case  inlaid  with  a  representation  of  the 
Good  Samaritan;  and  a  beautiful  pearl-inlaid  writ- 


l62  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

ing  desk,  presented  by  her  friends  and  neighbors 
near  Lea  Hurst. 

All  these  things  were  very  touching;  still  more 
touching  were  the  letters  that  came  from  all  over 
the  country,  thanking  and  blessing  her  for  all  she 
had  done.    Truly  it  was  a  happy  home  coming. 

Miss  Nightingale  knew  that  she  was  very,  very 
weary ;  she  realized  that  she  must  have  a  long  rest, 
but  she  little  thought  how  long  it  must  be.  She, 
and  all  her  friends,  thought  that  after  a  few  months 
she  would  be  able  to  take  up  again  the  work  she  so 
loved,  and  become  the  active  leader  in  introducing 
the  new  methods  of  nursing  into  England.  But  the 
months  passed,  and  grew  from  few  to  many,  and 
still  her  strength  did  not  return.  The  next  year, 
indeed,  when  the  dreadful  Indian  Mutiny  broke  out, 
she  wrote  to  her  friend  Lady  Canning,  wife  of  the 
Governor-General  of  India,  offering  to  come  at 
twenty- four  hours'  notice  "  if  there  was  anything 
to  do  in  her  line  of  business";  but  Lady  Canning 
\knew  that  she  was  not  equal  to  such  a  task. 

Slowly,  gradually,  the  truth  came  to  Florence 
Nightingale :  she  was  never  going  to  be  strong  or 
well  again.    Always  delicate,  the  tremendous  labors 


THE   TASKS   OF   PEACE.  163 

of  the  Crimea  had  been  too  much  for  her.  While 
the  work  went  on,  the  frail  body  answered  the  call 
of  the  powerful  will,  the  undaunted  mind,  the  great 
heart ;  now  that  the  task  was  finished,  it  sank  down 
broken  and  exhausted.  Truly,  she  had  given  her 
life,  as  much  as  any  soldier  who  fought  and  died  in 
the  trenches  or  on  the  battlefield. 

And  what  did  she  do  when  she  finally  came  to 
realize  this  ?  Did  she  give  up,  and  say,  "  My  work 
on  earth  is  done  ?  ''  Not  she !  There  may  have  been 
some  dark  hours,  but  the  world  has  never  heard  of 
them.  She  never  for  an  instant  thought  of  giving 
up  her  work;  she  simply  changed  the  methods  of 
it.  The  poor  tired  body  must  stay  in  bed  or  on  the 
sofa;  very  well!  But  the  mind  was  not  tired  at 
all;  the  will  was  not  weakened;  the  heart  had  not 
ceased  to  throb  with  love  and  compassion  for  the 
sick,  the  sorrowful,  the  suffering;  the  question  was 
to  find  the  way  in  which  they  could  work  with  as 
little  trouble  as  might  be  to  their  poor  sick  friend 
the  body. 

The  way  was  soon  found.  Whether  at  Lea  Hurst 
or  in  London  (for  she  now  spent  a  good  deal  of 
time  in  the  great  city,  to  be  near  the  centre  of 


1 64  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

things),  her  sick  room  became  one  of  the  busiest 
places  in  all  England. 

Schemes  for  army  reform,  for  hospital  reform, 
for  reform  in  everything  connected  with  the  poor 
and  the  sick — all  these  must  be  brought  to  Miss 
Nightingale.  All  the  soldiers  in  the  country  must 
write  to  her  whenever  they  wanted  anything,  from 
a  pension  down  to  a  wooden  leg  (to  their  honor 
be  it  said,  however,  that  though  she  was  over- 
whelmed with  begging  letters  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  not  a  soldier  ever  asked  her  for  money). 
The  Nightingale  fund,  now  nearly  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  was  administered  under  her  advice  and  di- 
rection, and  the  first  Training  School  for  Nurses 
organized  and  opened.  The  old  incapable,  ignorant 
nurse  vanished,  and  the  modern  nurse,  educated, 
methodical,  clear-eyed  and  clear-headed,  took  her 
place  quietly;  one  of  the  great  changes  of  modern 
times  was  effected,  and  the  hand  that  directed  it 
was  the  same  one  that  we  have  seen  holding  the 
lamp,  or  writing  down  the  dying  soldier's  last  words, 
in  the  Barrack  Hospital  at  Scutari. 

That  slender  hand  wrote  books  with  all  the  rest 
of  its  work.     In  the  sick  room  as  in  the  hospital. 


THE   TASKS   OF   PEACE.  165 

Miss  Nightingale  had  no  time  to  waste.  Her  **  Hos- 
pital Notes  "  may  be  read  to-day  with  the  keenest 
interest  by  all  who  care  to  know  more  of  that  great 
story  of  the  Crimean  War ;  her  "  Notes  on  Nursing  " 
became  the  handbook  of  the  Nursing  Reform,  and 
ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  every  nurse  to-day  as 
it  was  in  i860,  when  it  was  written.  Nor  in  the 
hands  of  nurses  only;  I  wish  every  girl  and  every 
boy  who  reads  this  story  would  try  to  find  that 
slender,  dingy  volume  in  some  library,  and  "  read, 
mark,  learn,  and  inwardly  digest "  its  contents. 
They  would  know  a  good  deal  more  than  they  do 
now.  Well  might  Miss  Nightingale  write,  in  1861 : 
"  I  have  passed  the  last  four  years  between  four 
walls,  only  varied  to  other  four  walls  once  a  year ; 
and  I  believe  there  is  no  prospect  but  of  my  health 
becoming  ever  worse  and  worse  till  the  hour  of  my 
release.  But  I  have  never  ceased,  during  one  wak- 
ing hour  since  my  return  to  England  five  years  ago, 
laboring  for  the  welfare  of  the  army  at  home,  as  I 
did  abroad,  and  no  hour  have  I  given  to  friendship 
or  amusement  during  that  time,  but  all  to  work." 

Drop  a  stone  in  the  water  and  see  how  the  circles 
spread,  growing  wider  and  wider.     After  a  while 


l66  FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 

you  cannot  see  them,  but  you  know  that  the  motion 
you  have  started  must  go  on  and  on  till  it  whispers 
against  the  pebbles  on  the  farther  shore.  So  it  is 
with  a  good  deed  or  an  evil  one;  we  see  its  begin- 
ning ;  we  cannot  see  what  distant  shore  it  may  reach. 
So,  no  one  will  ever  know  the  full  amount  of  good 
that  this  noble  woman  has  done.  The  Sanitary 
Commission  of  our  own  Civil  War,  the  Red  Cross 
which  to-day  counts  its  workers  by  thousands  in 
every  part  of  the  civilized  world,  both  owed  their 
first  impulse  to  the  pebble  dropped  by  Florence 
Nightingale — even  her  own  life,  given  freely  to  suf- 
fering humanity. 

I  have  never  seen,  but  I  like  to  think  of  the  quiet 
room  in  London,  where  she  lies  to-day  in  the  white 
beauty  of  her  age.  Nearly  ninety  years  have  passed 
since  the  little  girl-baby  woke  to  life  among  the 
blossoms  of  the  City  of  Flowers;  more  than  half 
a  century  has  gone  by  since  the  Lady  with  the  Lamp 
passed  like  light  along  the  corridors  of  the  Barrack 
Hospital;  yet  still  Florence  Nightingale  lives  and 
loves,  still  her  thoughts  go  out  in  tenderness  and 
compassion  toward  all  who  are  "  in  trouble,  sor- 
row, need,  sickness,  or  any  other  adversity." 


THE  TASKS  OF   PEACE.  167 

Let  US  think  of  that  quiet  room  as  one  of  the  holy 
places  of  the  earth;  let  us  think  of  her,  and  take 
our  leave  of  her^  with  loving  and  thankful  hearts. 


(16) 


THE     ENB 


STORIES  FROM  THE  LIVES  OF  GREAT  MEN 


WASHINGTON  THE  MAS  OF  AC5TION 

By  F.  T.  Hill,    Illustrated  by  J.  O.  De  Breville 

An  account  of  Washington's  career,  in  an  especially 
fine  and  handsome  edition.  Contains  twenty-seven 
illustrations  and  numerous  decorations  by  a  celebrated 
French  artist. 

ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  WASHINGTON 
By  Frederick  Trevor  Hill 

Tells  the  story  of  Washington's  life  in  a  close  per- 
sonal fashion,  describing  his  boyhood,  his  adventurous 
surveying  expeditions,  and  his  army  career.  Illus- 
trated. 

ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  GRANT  AND  LEE 
By  Frederick  Trevor  Hill 

The  lives  of  the  great  leaders  of  the  Civil  War,  told 
to  bring  out  the  characters  of  the  men,  the  great  events 
in  which  they  took  part,  and  the  interweaving  of  their 
lives.    Illustrated. 
PAUL  REVERE 
By  Belle  Moses 

Full  account  of  the  Boston  goldsmith  and  engraver 
whose  services   to   his   country   deserve   not   only  the 
fame  they  have  won,  but  even  closer  and  fuller  acquaint- 
ance.   Illustrated. 
ISRAEL   PUTNAM 
By  Louise  Hasbrouck 

Sturdy    "Old    Put"    is   a   popular    hero   because   he 
strikingly  represents  qualities  of  the  people  which  stood 
out  mightilly  in  their  success.    Here  you  may  learn  to 
know  the  man.    Illustrated. 
PAUL  JONES 
By  Molly  Elliot  Sea  well 

The    exploits   of    America's   first   great   naval   com- 
mander related  completely  and  accurately  to  give  a  full 
account  of   his   part   in   the   Revolution,   and   also  to 
make  a  good  story.    Illustrated. 
THE  HERO  OF  STONY  POINT 

Good  American  history  and  a  good  story.  The  pic- 
turesque career  of  "Mad  Anthonny"  Wayne,  able  and 
successful  soldier,  prominent  patriot,  and  admirable 
character.     Illustrated. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
New  York  London 


T739 


